


I never know...

by Axolotl7



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, BAMF Melinda May, BAMF Phil Coulson, Bahrain, Betrayal, F/M, Fighting to work out issues, Fights, Friendship/Love, Gen, Pheels, Philinda - Freeform, So many pheels, So much angst, Sparring, T.A.H.I.T.I, Trust Issues, Violence, What Happened in Bahrain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>A fic set at the beginning of series three - May returns but not everything can be forgiven with a simple apology on either side.<br/> <br/><em>"The strike snaps her head back despite turning with the momentum at the last moment to lessen the impact. She dances back out of range quickly, shaking her head to shift the haze of pain attempting to burr the edges of her vision whilst keeping her attacker firmly in her sights to counter any follow up. He’s not pursuing immediately. It gives her a chance to spit the blood from her mouth, her split lip stinging as crimson splatters to the mats like the abstract art of a child.</em></p><p>
  <em>No, nothing so innocent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She steps over the splatter so that she doesn’t have to look at it, wiping thoughts of blood and pain and death from her mind as easily as removing it from her sight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As she closes back in on him to continue the fight she tries to remind herself how she ended up here and now with Phillip J Coulson hitting her – no, <em>beating</em> on her…"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I miss my friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chap is a little bit maudlin but it gets fun thereafter I promise! ;)

Chapter 1

The strike snaps her head back despite turning with the momentum at the last moment to lessen the impact. She dances back out of range quickly, shaking her head to shift the haze of pain attempting to burr the edges of her vision whilst keeping her attacker firmly in her sights to counter any follow up. He’s not pursuing immediately. It gives her a chance to spit the blood from her mouth, her split lip stinging as crimson splatters to the mats like the abstract art of a child.

No, nothing so innocent.

She steps over the splatter so that she doesn’t have to look at it, wiping thoughts of blood and pain and death from her mind as easily as removing it from her sight.

As she closes back in on him to continue the fight she tries to remind herself how she ended up here and now with Phillip J Coulson hitting her – no, _beating_ on her…

 

x

 

There’s silence as she first walks into the rec room. 

For about a minute. 

Then everyone speaks at once – congratulations, welcome backs, missed yous, the usual. She’s surrounded by well-meaning well-wishers, drawn into uncomfortable hugs despite her bristling. She even manages a few tense smiles at some of them, some of those she knows, one she’d considered a daughter before now, her team mates, some she wouldn’t be able to recall the names of but faces she might recognise as having passed her once in a corridor. Familiar. Friendly.

She only has eyes for him. He who stands with shocked pain painted across the canvas of his face. Always so expressive. So brilliantly able to conceal his true thoughts and feelings behind a mask of seemingly genuine false emotions. So much better a lie than her ‘blank face’. So much more readily believed.

She has a feeling that this horrible tableau is the truth, the genuine him, the mask reflecting everything beneath its surface. It cuts her deep, robs her breath, glues her feet in place as the crowds talk around her, to her, at her. A storm raging with her at the centre, oblivious to the swirling winds, concerned only for him.

Time seems to stand still for an eternity of a heat beat.

Then it moves too swiftly as he turns about and heads up the dark stairs to his office without a word. The world rushes in to fill the void, noisy, too chaotic, drowning her in sound and lights and people when she’d just rather be alone right now.

She lets her head fall to look at the ground, eyes shut, taking a deep breath to centre herself amidst the sudden chaos.

She can feel the others’ stares upon her – questioning, sympathising? She doesn’t care to look up and find out.

He’s walked away. 

 

That’s okay, she tells herself. Presumably, he means for her to follow him, to let them great each other in private. What they have to say to one another is not for public consumption.

The slammed door before she’s taken a second step makes it clear that she assumes wrong.  
Everyone watches on silently now, seemingly unwilling to disturb the sudden stillness. The tension in the room is palpable. If only she really could cut it with a knife. Any minute now someone will start giggling nervously and she’ll have to kill them.

“Awk-ward,” Skye breathes just loudly enough for everyone to hear but quietly enough that she can choose to pretend that she didn’t. She couldn’t agree more! She could have laid odds that the young girl would be the first to crack (and the first to brave her wrath). It breaks some of the tension but more importantly it drives her to take action before anything more is said.

She shakes herself mentally – she didn’t come here to be ignored. She could’ve stayed away and been ignored quite easily enough without everyone else witnessing her humiliation.

She climbs the dark stairs and knocks on the office door well aware of the eyes studiously not following her.

“Go away, May.”

Well she’s no intention of just walking away.

She tries the door handle.

Locked.

She swallows as she tries not to let her expression show just how much that hurts her.

“Open the door, Phil,” she asks quietly. She’s incredibly conscious of the many ears straining to hear what she says. “Let me in,” she near begs.

“You don’t want to come in here right now,” his distorted voice comes slightly muffled through the door but she’s no doubt everyone else can hear him perfectly.

“I do.”

Silence.

“Don’t make me do this through the door, Phil,” she pleads. She can feel the weight of the stares of the others on the back of her neck. She doesn’t need the witnesses. This... this thing between them, this... friendship, relationship, whatever... is private. She doesn’t want to be talking to him in front of them or through a solid door. There’s been too many things standing between them recently – the lies, the miles, now this door.

“The door’s for your safety.”

She scoffs. Yeah right. Like she needs protection from him. “You’d never hurt me,” she says with certainty. They might lie to each other, plan and deceive, but he’d never raise a hand to her.

“I might if you come in here,” the door replies.

“I’ll take the risk,” she tells him firmly.

There’s another few beats of silence.

She sighs audibly. “Please Phil,” she begs quietly notwithstanding her audience.

Finally, just as she’s almost given up hope of the door opening voluntarily, there’s the click of the lock sliding back. He’s not opening the door per se, he’s not inviting her in, but it’s enough. Enough that she can open it with a turn of the handle.

She’s come this far.

Another handle, another push, another step… she can do that.

 

x

 

“You’re back.” It’s a statement but also a question. She hears what he doesn’t add - _‘are you staying?’_ They’ve always read between the lines of the little that they say out loud. She hopes he’s just as proficient at understanding what she doesn’t say now.

“I’m here,” she replies to both his asked and unasked questions. _‘Not necessarily back,’_ she doesn’t say, _‘not necessarily staying.’_

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” _I wasn’t ready. I could have been more prepared._

“I thought about it.” _I was worried that you’d lock the doors._ “You didn’t change my access codes.”

“I thought about it.” _I was worried that you’d find a locked door._ “I decided you’d probably just break the door down.” _But I was worried that you might not try._

“You want to tell me where you’ve been these past six months?” _I missed you._ Or maybe that’s just what she wishes he’d say, what she wants to hear.

“You knew where I was.” _You could’ve come got me._

“I sent agents.” _A gesture of peace._ “You sent them back.” _Rejection._

“I didn’t want your agents.” _I wanted you to come yourself._

“I offered to come.” _I wasn’t brave enough to go if I wasn’t welcome._ “As I recall, you hung up on me.”

“I did.” _I was a coward._ “It wasn’t a ‘no.’” 

_It felt like one to him._

“It wasn’t a ‘yes’ either.” She doesn’t dispute that. He’s not wrong.

 

x

 

“Why did you come back?” he asks her as the silence turns uncomfortable between them. It’s never been uncomfortable like this before. Even after he’d died. Even after she’d lied. Never like this.

“I didn’t find what I was looking for,” she answers with a typical non-answer the kinds of which they’re all so proficient at now.

“You didn’t go on some walk about to find yourself or inner peace or whatever the rest of them believe.” It’s not a question.

“No.” She answers anyway.

“Then why?”

“Why did I leave or why did I come back?” she asks to buy time. She moves away, twiddles with a doo-hickey on the corner of his desk. Distancing herself physically as much as emotionally.

“Yes.” She laughs without humour. They’re all experts at this double speak.

It falls silent. Usually she likes the silence. She’s content without words. This time there’s tension, accusation maybe. She didn’t come here for silence or double speak. She didn’t come here for the parry of words back and forth, neither the victor both ending up cut.

“I missed my friend.” She tries honesty. 

She missed the friend he used to be. Before Tahiti, before all the lies and the betrayals. Before the pain and when it became okay to hurt each other.

 

Silence.

“We’ve both made mistakes,” he ventures. _Another olive branch extended._

“They weren’t mistakes,” she refutes quietly, saddened. _Not a rejection, not as such, but she can’t accept peace on a lie._

“What?” he’s confused, maybe a little suspicious that she’s not accepted his offer to wipe everything under the rug and move forwards.

“They weren’t mistakes,” she clarifies. “We made the decisions we had to. Mistake implies that we’d correct it if we could, that we’d make a different decision if we got a second chance to do everything over.”

“You’d still make the same decisions,” he says, half accusation half realisation.

“I might have kept Skye from Puerto Rico and Simmons away from an alien rock… but essentially… Yes, I’d make the same choices.”

He thinks on that for a few moments and she lets him. She won’t pretend, not any more. They are either broken or not, she’s not willing to press anymore band aids to this gushing wound. 

“We both would,” he confirms eventually.

Silence descends. 

The end of an era? The end of their friendship? The end of even trying to put everything back together again?

He breaks the silence first. He usually does.

“I miss my friend.”

 

That’s all that matters after all is said and done. It’s why she’s here. It’s why she’s trying. It’s why this is so damn hard, so damn important. Neither of them verbalises the question they’re both thinking, both too afraid of the answer to risk it.

 

_How do we fix this?_

 

 

x


	2. A Stupid Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve always hurt each other .”

Chapter 2

 

_How do we fix this?_

She sighs and looks directly at him, eyes flickering across his face, memorising every aspect of him as though she might never see him again. 

She might not . 

 

“I never know, when you’re pulling that face, whether you’re planning to hit me or kiss me,” he says with a self-mocking smile. He’s always the one to try to inject humour into a situation – to relax the ones around him, disarm with charm or simply to make people happier, she never knows.

She can’t resist playing along if this is to be the last time they joke together, a sad smile stretching her lips as she returns the volley: “I have to pick just one ?” 

 

He’s up out of the chair like a shot, leaving her reeling slightly at the sudden movement. 

“Okay then,” he starts as he closes in on her position, one finger raised as though to lecture her, “First the hitting… then _may-_ be the kissing.” With that directive he walks around her, striding out of the door before she’s so much as turned to watch him leave. It takes her a few moments for her mind to catch up and her feet to start moving to try to catch up to him.

“Phil, I was kidding!” 

Everyone in the room is twiddling their thumbs, averting their eyes, basically trying to look like they haven’t just all been listening in to a very private conversation. And they’re supposed to be elite spies, pfft. She could care less . 

“Blow off some steam, get it all out in the open, maybe hurt each other a little bit. It sounds to me like a great idea,” Phil continues talking back over his shoulder as she struggles to race and yet not fall down the stairs and catch up before he gets into the hallway .

“You can’t fight me Phil. You don’t stand a chance of winning,” she tries to reason.

“It’s not about winning.” It’s about pain. _Feeling it, suffering it, inflicting it ._

She catches his arm, hauling him back to a stop and to face her. Her eyes search his face for signs that this is a joke... or that he’s gone crazy in her absence... for something. “I don’t want to hurt you, Phil.” _I never would. I never did._

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” he speaks over her protestations. Her expression must show that she doesn’t understand because he verbalises the usually unspoken communication. “We’ve always hurt each other .”

That... that actually leaves her a little stunned . 

 

He shakes off her grip easily, continuing down the echoing corridor. “We need to do something to stop this playing out in the same old tune.” They do need to do something different but… hitting each other?

She shakes her head and follows him. “This is a stupid idea,” she declares.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I know but it’s also a great idea. And when has a plan’s stupidity ever stopped me before …” Well, she has to concede that point.

“So now it’s not just an idea, it’s a plan ?” 

“Yep. A plan. A definite plan to get our relationship back on track.” He turns to look at her too suddenly, makes her stop short so that she doesn’t crash into him. “Don’t you want to punch me for lying to you about seeing Andrew ?” 

She scowls at him. “You had to bring it up .” She left out ‘dumbass’ but he heard it anyway.

“Cause I’ve gotta say I kind of want to hurt you for the staying away for the past six months with the babysitting excuse.”

Her eyes flash danger at him.

“So, are you ready to work through some issues?” 

“Oh yeah,” she snarls and pushes past ahead of him in to the gym . 

 

x


	3. It Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Coulson. The Director. Fighting. With Agent May,” she confirms slowly for them all._

Chapter 3 – It Starts

 

Daisy flies around the corner of the lab, speaking almost before she’s fully in the room, gasping between every few words in a way that has them all up and rushing to reach her to deal with whatever emergency has sent her flying flat out through the base.

“Coulson’s fighting May,” she gasps out.

“What?” “What?” Yeah it really doesn’t register that she’s said anything that could possibly make sense.

“Coulson. The Director. Fighting. With Agent May,” she confirms slowly for them all.

“Agent May’s back?” Bobbi cuts right to the heart of it.

“Er… sort of. I think. It seems to be a little more complicated than that,” Daisy tries to explain with her hands as much as her words, something she only really falls back on when overly excited or particularly nervous. 

“She’ll slaughter him,” is Bobbi’s succinct conclusion . 

“Nah, he’s wily, he’ll have something up his sleeve,” is Hunter’s two penny’s worth from the side where he is still causally propped up, having taken to hounding Bobbi’s footsteps down to the lab ostensibly because ‘you never know when he might learn something, genius by osmosis or something cool like that, right?’ but which everyone knows is just him following her around like a love sick puppy . 

“My money’s on May,” Daisy gets into the spirit of it quickly.

“Mine too,” Bobbi says sending a smirk over to Hunter in a manner that dares him to take the bet. 

“Yeah, me too too,” he concedes. He’s not that stupid thank you very much. He’d never bet against Bobbi. Well… not again . 

“Is anyone going to bet on Coulson?” Daisy demands, criticism in her tone at their lack of loyalty, completely disregarding the fact that she is also betting against the man. There a slightly sheepish silence that falls over the three of them. “Okay then how about on how long he lasts?” she quickly perks up . 

“Fifty bucks says Coulson lasts less than five minutes,” Bobbi starts then turns it quickly on Hunter with a challenging glance.

“Nah, I’ll give him ten – he can talk for that long before she gets in and clocks him one,” Hunter gamely justifies . 

“Thirty seconds says it, from getting on the mat to lying flat on his back,” Fitz jumps in, his voice carrying clearly enough from the corridor that they all start guiltily and hope to hell that Coulson and May were far enough away by the time they all started talking . Elite spies, pfft!

“Well I wasn’t gonna be the first to suggest it, mate, but you are prob-ably right on the money what with all the dark brooding looks between the two of them,” Hunter gamely picks up, speaking loudly over Fitz’ protestations (that that was not what he meant, did he really think they were and no, no, they’re just friends, very good friends, and I mean anyway Coulson’s ... old) and Skye’s shouts (ew, gross! I do so not need to hear that Hunter!) as she places her hands over her ears in childish gesture of being unable to hear anything.

“And there has to be some reason why she’s adamantly resisted my charms since even before you came back to base, luv,” Hunter continues blissfully ignorant to the screwed up ‘ew’ faces being made and the single death glare levelled at him together with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, just waiting for his mouth to get him into more trouble.

“Hey guys?” Daisy interrupts and they all look at her in question. “Presuming that _our bosses_ are not actually going to the gym to make out, should we maybe get down there so that we don’t miss this thirty second fight?” she points out with a smile.

Then there’s a rush for the doorway, a bit of barging as they all three try to fit at once with Bobbi eventually simply picking Daisy up to move her physically out of the way whilst dragging Hunter backwards by the collar of his shirt so that she can take the lead as they all rush from the room.

 

x

 

“Standard practice bout rules?” May asks him as she takes up a position barefoot on the sparring mats. The rules leave them open to strikes, grappling and falls but keep them from doing any real damage to one another.

“You need them?” Phil questions far too cocky.

“You will,” she threatens with a twitch to her lips that means she’s trying too hard to hold back a smile. There’s no way she’s going to hurt him, rules or no rules.

“No rules. We’re supposed to be hurting each other,” Phil confirms in his oh so reasonable voice that usually has everyone just agreeing with him. She does not agree with him, no matter how reasonable he might sound. “No more bottling it up, May. Every strike a reason.” 

“I’m not going to hit you, Phil.”

“Come on. I’m going to hit you.” He dances about foolishly in front of her like a boxer, weaving and dodging and quite frankly looking ridiculous. He feigns a few jabs to her face. His waving arms at her nose are like a fly buzzing around her – irritating . 

She swats him appropriately.

“That’s more like it!” he crows, moving back to a better distance and taking up a proper stance. “What’s the first thing I did that pissed you off?”

She sighs. Alright, they’re doing this then. The first thing? So many things – from dragging her out of her safe little hole in administration by _dying_ to picking inexperienced agents for the team set to protect him. She goes with the easier one, the less emotionally charged one.

“You picked kids for this team .” 

“What?” He loses his stance entirely and she shakes her head in frustration – it’s been thirty years and he’s still learned nothing about sparring. “No, you picked the team, May. You-”

She interrupts. “I gave Fury the parameters. I never said pick two twenty year olds with no field training to go out on a small mobile unit IN THE FIELD!”

“That’s more like it,” he says and closes the distance between them. “Now hit me.” 

She scoffs, she’s angry sure but that doesn’t mean she’s going to hit him. She’s better control over herself than that. 

He waits for a moment. “No?”

“No,” she confirms.

“Okay,” he says faux reluctantly. “Well... you picked Ward,” he says at the same time as he fires a fist towards her face.

She weaves slightly left, grabs his wrist with both hands as it passes her nose and holds it trapped. _“Hill_ picked Ward,” she snaps back . 

“You chose to sleep with him.”

 

x


	4. Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess we need to start looking for a new Director again. Shield really goes through them.”

Chapter 4 - Ward

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
__

_The door crashes open to the startlement of the two agents casually sitting watching as monitors flicker onto new angles, change cameras and generally show everyone on base up to their incredibly boring usual routines._

_“Out,” Daisy orders the two agents reviewing the monitors casually set up across a wall of screens, covering the majority of the base’s security footage from this one room._

_“Agen-?” he questions rising from his seat to face her._

_“Out,” she confirms more firmly, simply pushing past him to assume the wheelie chair (Yay!) and dragging herself back to the desk and link up pad controlling the whole thing. The agents still hover behind her for a moment but the others barrel into the room behind her, something is said or sorted out by Bobbi and the door is closed behind them._

_Someone switches off the lights, plunging the little room into darkness except for the glowing wall screens just as she turns the monitors to the gym channels, bringing the best angle up on the central screen and boosting up the volume._

_“Hill picked Ward,” hears May snap and oh my God is Coulson trying to get himself killed again!? She’s never heard May sound so... furious. And there is Coulson standing right in her line of fire, right up close next to her as she keeps his arm trapped between her hands, presumably having just grabbed a strike he attempted from their positions._

_Oh my God did he really actually throw a strike at her?! Seriously?! At her face? Is he mad!?_

_“Is he going insane again from the alien crazy juice?” Hunter is of course the one to say what they are probably all thinking as they look up at the screen in awe. Probably a little in horror. It is a little like watching a train crash about to happen in slow motion, knowing that disaster is imminent but there is no way you can stop it in time._

_“You chose to sleep with him,” they all hear Coulson say quite clearly. There’s a simultaneous gasp from all present, wide eyed, horrified._

_“Yes. Yes he is.”_

__  
x

 

“You chose to sleep with him,” he follows up and she lets go of his arm, stepping back away as though she can distance herself from the accusation by putting space between them. 

“I did,” she acknowledges quietly, a self-mocking twist to her tightened lips. She’s still disappointed with herself for that bad decision – for sleeping with him, _for needing to_ , for not realising that he was playing her all along. 

The uppercut punch knocks her head back with a snap. She’s not sure whether she’s failed to catch it in time or decided to let it through but it lifts her off her feet irrespective of the reasoning and sends her flying to the ground. She slams her hands backwards to break her fall and her palms sting from the impact almost as much as her jaw . And ow. She blinks rapidly to deal with it for a few moments before looking back up.

He’s standing a little distance away, looking at his robotic fist in horror and she knows that she’s not going to call him on it. She is however going to watch him more carefully if that’s the kind of blow he can deliver with his replacement . 

 

X

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…

_  
“OOOOW!” they all shout out and group cringe away from the screens as the punch lands, snapping May’s head back and sending her momentarily airborne before slamming down into the mats._

_“Well it was nice knowing him.”_

_“He is such a dead man.”_

_“I guess we need to start looking for a new Director again. Shield really goes through them.”_

_“Look no further, luv, I am right here.” *Crack* “Ow! Slap and tickle’s great in the bedroom, luv, but here-” *Crack* “And ow again.”_

_“Shhhhh... I wanna hear what May says.”_

_“Other than ‘now you’re dead’?”_

_“Nah she’d say something way cooler like-”_

_“Shhhhhh!”_

__

 

 

She climbs to her feet a little more steadily than she would normally after getting struck down – she needs the additional time for her body to decide to co-operate with her wishes to move back to a standing position and whilst ever she’s ‘down’ she knows he’s not going to rush her before she’s ready.

She is so not taking a hit like that again.

This is a stupid idea.

 _His_ stupid idea.

Her lips tighten as she looks across the mats at him, taking up a ready position. An eyebrow raises in silent challenge when he doesn’t make a move to attack her but she, unlike him, doesn’t drop her stance.

“We doing this or not?” she challenges him verbally when he’s still just standing there looking like a muppet. She never breaks the silence first normally but she’s anxious to get on with this, eager to see where it leads them and fighting is by far her preference for dealing with things than _talking_.

She’s still not going to hit him though.

“We are. You sided with Gonzales,” he states, the emotion that he keeps from his voice blaring from his eyes as he rushes to meet her. He’s unbalanced, uncoordinated and telegraphs his intended strikes far too early in advance. She waits unimpressed. Side steps simply a stride to the left as he nears and lets him overshoot her position. She backs up to give him room to make another foolish charge as he stops a few strides further and turns back to look at her in question – as though she’s supposed to just stand still and play punching bag! 

“Which time?” she questions blithely, just so see if he charges back at her as fast or whether he has actually still got a brain working inside that thick skull of his. 

“Every time!” is his too quick answer as he charges again. 

She inhales, clenches and flexes her fingers, prepares herself mentally and physically to take him down. 

He wants to talk about Gonzales and betrayals... well she's plenty to say!

 

 

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time - sorry folks!
> 
> Next up: Team Gonzales... Melinda's imprisonment and seeming change of loyalties


	5. Gonzales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> “You’re a coward May!” he shouts and she knows her body flinches, shoulders rounded in a cringe as though the blow hits her physically. “Running away because things are getting tough.
> 
> __

Chapter 5 - Gonzales

“We are. You sided with Gonzales,” he states, the emotion that he keeps from his voice blaring from his eyes as he rushes to meet her. He’s unbalanced, uncoordinated and telegraphs his intended strikes far too early in advance. She waits unimpressed. Side steps simply a stride to the left as he nears and lets him overshoot her position. She backs up to give him room to make another foolish charge as he stops a few strides further and turns back to look at her in question – as though she’s supposed to just stand still and play punching bag! 

“Which time?” she questions blithely, just so see if he charges back at her as fast or whether he has actually still got a brain working inside that thick skull of his.

“Every time!” is his too quick answer as he charges again. 

She inhales, clenches and flexes her fingers, prepares herself mentally and physically to take him down. 

He wants to talk about what happened with Gonzales ... well she's plenty to say!

Her eyes narrow as he comes in too fast towards her – too fast, too out of balance, too committed. Idiot. His words mean nothing if he’s not going to even try to give her a good fight. She twists out of his reach as he closes in on her position, spinning simply away, sprinting a few strides before turning back to face him from a position of safety.

“I voted that Gonzales go to meet the Inhumans because he was objective,” she explains her reasoning.

“You voted Gonzales because you were pissed at me,” he snaps back. His hurt expression says he genuinely believes it as well. That knocks her back a little. The strike he tries to throw doesn’t as she simply forces him about with his own momentum, pushing him away again. He can’t possibly believe she would make tactical decisions about the future of Shield based on her being pissed at someone. He should know her far better than that.

And she wasn’t ‘pissed’. 

She was furious.

She readies her focus as he moves in again and side steps _again_ , spinning this time to avoid his hastily flung out arm and put further distance between them again. He doesn’t hesitate this time to follow her movement, lagging slightly behind as she retreats across the mats, weaving and sliding to escape his ill thought out attempts to catch her. 

He’s not even trying to hit her now, only to stop her moving away. 

She scoffs internally at the thought. He’s never been able to stop her moving away . 

She blinks. He’s never really tried to before. They’ve both just let the other move away, let this chasm of distance grow larger between them. At least he’s trying something now, trying to bridge that seemingly insurmountable gap, trying to stop it growing any larger . 

She stops spinning away. Stops running. Not because of anything that he does or doesn’t do. Simply because her thoughts make continuing to run away distasteful.

x

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
_  
“What are you all doin-”_

_“Mack, get in here and shut the door!”_

_“Is that-”_

_“May and Coulson fighting, yes. And we’re already over the ten minute mark so I guess we need to be laying out some new odds and bets if this is continuing.”_

_“You mean I win?”_

_“By default yes.”_

_“Default win’s still a win, sweetheart.”  
_

x

“You were pissed at me for Project Theta,” he continues, slightly breathless now from chasing her, a raised finger pointed at her in accusation.

“No,” she denies simply. She was never pissed that he kept the helicarrier from her - he's the director, he doesn't have to share every operation with her. Shield only functions because of its secrets. She understands his position. He’s the director; he gets to keep secrets. His keeping secrets is not an issue.

“You are, you’re pissed about that still,” he says as he closes the distance towards her again, “I don’t have to tell you everything May!”

“I know,” she forces out through gritted teeth and he stops his stride to simply look at her. She hates it when he looks at her like that; it’s like he can read all her secrets, peruse all her thoughts irrespective of her attempts to hide them behind a well practiced non-expression. She clamps down, concentrates hard on blanking out all expression, clearing whatever thoughts run through her eyes, shuts him out as best she can. They don’t work like that anymore. He doesn’t deserve the advantage of knowing what she’s feeling before she can disguise it.

“See,” he says with a gesture at her as though her actions make the argument for him. “Still pissed I didn’t tell you about the helicarrier! It was a secret May, I didn’t tell anyone really!” 

Her eyes narrow and she canNOT let that blatant lie stand. “It was a big operation they said. Must have been hundreds of agents working to get the carrier up and running-”

“The minimum I needed to get it ready and to keep it a secret.”

“Having hundreds of agents in the know was a huge risk to the secrecy of your operation.” One more wouldn’t have made any difference, she implies.

“I only assigned people I trusted,” he replies and even as he says it he seems to realise the phrasing as he frowns in consternation. 

But that’s the kicker isn’t it? That’s the reason for all of this. 

They don’t trust each other anymore. 

Personally that’s not an issue. They can be colleagues, can even be sort of friends and simply know that the line of trust does not extend to one another.

Professionally... professionally that’s a problem. That’s _the_ problem. The big one.

“You didn’t trust me,” she follows the thought to its final conclusion, states it out loud for the both of them to hear. She’s never been one to beat about the bush.

“Seems I made the right decision,” he responds apparently unwilling to concede the point even once called out on it. That hurts. A stab to her stomach, deep and painful. The strike as he closes in doesn’t even come close to touching her but his words can rip her to shreds. “If I had told you then Gonzales would probably be flying about in a helicarrier right about now.”

“Stop with the helicarrier! I don't care about the damn carrier!” she snaps and berates herself for losing her usual control. She can usually handle the pain, manage her rage, force it down deep. He has a way of getting around her usual controls, everything he says seems twice as sharp as a comment from anyone else. Every action twice as hurtful. Every dig she feels too keenly, too deep. “I care about trust.”

“You’re hardly one to lecture me on trust,” he snarls back, coming in against her low and faster, throwing an arm out to strike her as though nothing short of a physical blow will communicate his anger.

“I did what I had to do,” she snaps as she snaps a forearm up to block his strike – she is not taking a blow for trying to protect him.

“SO DID I!” he shouts back not deigning to remove his arm, simply pressing against her forcibly, holding his proximity knowing she won’t back away from conflict even when he’s the greater strength. They heave against each other, brute strength pushing against the other’s arm, simply trying to force a step back, a concession from the other. Their faces are almost close enough to touch, eyes searching the other’s frantically, chests heaving as tempers flare red hot. There’s a moment’s hesitation, a pause where neither knows quite how to react.

He’s the first one to get control of himself. She’ll kick herself later for that.

He steps off the pressure, takes a clear step back from the fight before letting his arms drop down to his side, defeated. It’s like he’s suddenly a different man. All signs of the previous anger dissolved, spirited away on the air, leaving behind this broken seeming shell. The abrupt transformation throws her for a loop.

“I never thought it of you, you know...” he starts quietly, anguish weaving its threads through every word even as he doesn’t look up to meet her gaze. His hand brushes through his hair and she wonders absent-mindedly if that’s why he’s cut it shorter. He laughs without any trace of humour to his tone, more a scoff than anything. She’s never seen him like this, never seen him so defeated looking, so... worn. “When I saw your standing there... with Gonzales... you...you didn’t even...” he can’t seem to find the words. For a man that NEVER has difficulty finding words, right or wrong ones, and using them to excellent manipulative effect, it’s concerning. No, not just concerning – it’s wrong. This needs sorting. If they’re so broken that he can’t even find words then they’re too broken.

“Spit it out,” is her only contribution. She can take it. Whatever words he needs to find, whatever words he needs to throw at her, she’ll survive. She’d rather he just come out and say it straight.

He swallows, mouth opening to speak before closing again with a grimace.

She loses whatever little patience she may once have had with him – what’s the point in his holding his tongue now to protect her from the harsh truth of his opinions, she’s already suffered the consequences of his decisions, what difference will words make. “Say it,” she demands taking a step closer to force his eyes to flick to hers at the sudden movement, the potential danger.

He inhales, seems to goad himself into it. She doesn’t care, she just needs to hear it – his explanation, his excuses.

“Betrayal,” he says firmly, the weight of emotion behind that one word swimming through his eyes, rushing over her, choking the breath from her lungs, drowning her even as she takes a subconscious step backwards in retreat.

“Betrayal?” she questions with a tight smile, trying desperately not to let her mask crack, to not let the tears that suddenly sit ready to dive off the precipice.

“I never thought you, of all people, would betray me,” he confirms slowly and there’s so much grief that she’s forced to turn herself away so as not to lose her composure in front of him.

“If you really think I’d betray you then we have nothing left here,” she concludes hoping that he can’t hear the choked off tears in her voice.

x

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
_  
“You know, maybe we shouldn’t be listening in on all this,” Mack suggests in his gravelly deep voice that makes him sound oh so very reasonable in all things at all times –except right now._

_“What? Are you mad, mate?! This is the best thing I’ve seen in years!”_

_“It’s private stuff we’re listening to here. I’m just saying maybe we should leave it that way,” Mack continues, this time turning to face all of them, slightly blocking the screen from view so that they’re all forced to stop and look at him._

_They exchange quick concerned glances between themselves – Hunter of all of them looks the least concerned, Fitz is twiddling his fingers in the tails of his un-tucked shirt slightly abashed, Bobbi is just propped sitting on the back of the second chair balancing who knows how with a slight smile to her lips that no one has any idea how to interpret._

_“Well... I wanna hear,” Daisy starts them off. Everyone’s eyes fall to her but she’s pleased to note that none of them do so in accusation, more in thanks that she’s been the one to say it out loud._

_“Great. So when Coulson and May find us and kill us for it we blame the girl who can start earthquakes and we all live to see another day.”_

_“Thanks Hunter,” Daisy says dryly._

_“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now Mack, if you please, the crowds would like to continue with their cinematic event without further forced interludes.”_

_Mack shifts to one side again but turns back to keep watching._

_“Thought you were against this?” Daisy questions._

_“I just thought someone ought to say something,” Mack replies with a shrug._

__  
x

“If you really think I’d betray you then we have nothing left here,” she concludes hoping that he can’t hear the choked off tears in her voice.

She moves steadily towards the door. She won’t let herself hurry, won’t let her legs break into the run they desire to escape accusations that she knows will haunt her no matter how fast she moves. She swallows back the sob that wants out, wipes an unexpectedly wet cheek with the back of her sleeve on the way. A single tear does not mean she’s crying.

“Oh for,” Phil speaks behind her as though frustrated. “Don’t just run away,” he says more firmly but she doesn’t care to respond. There’s nothing here for her. She should have known there wasn’t. They’ve been heading this way for far too long.

“You’re a coward May!” he shouts and she knows her body flinches, shoulders rounded in a cringe as though the blow hits her physically. “Running away because things are getting tough.

“Don’t you at least owe me an apology?” he twists the knife through her heart.

She stops in place, arm outstretched towards the door. An apology? He wants a god damn _apology_ from her. She takes a deep breath. Then another. Closes her eyes in an attempt to control her immediate desire for a violent response. She’s better than that, she will not hurt him. No matter how much he might hurt her.

“At least pretend you’re sorry for changing sides, for choosing Gonzales over me,” he continues and each false accusation hits the shields of her control.

“Was that why you wanted me off the base?” each verbal barrage increases the cracks, she can almost visualise them in her mind - splintering under the pressure. 

“You wanted me out of the way so that you could take over on his little council-”

“That’s enough,” she snaps spinning to face him. Furiously quiet. A small part of her delighting in how his mouth snaps shut immediately, how his eyes betray him, the tension in his body telegraphing fear. Oh he should be very afraid right now. “I never betrayed you. I never did,” she says quietly, eyes glowing with every step she takes closer to him.

“You were on Gonzales’ council!” he retorts angrily, also now moving to close the distance between them, to force the clash. 

“You don’t know what happened,” she refutes, trying to make him understand, trying to deal with this reasonably, trying to gain control, trying to leash her own demons before she ends up striking out. Always trying. She’s fed up of trying.

“You didn’t exactly write me a report,” he throws back at her. No, she hadn’t. He hadn’t asked so she hadn’t said. They’d had other immediate concerns to deal with, world security concerns, matters far more important than her compiling a report on exactly what she suffered under Gonzales. She’d assumed he trusted her – that was her mistake. She won’t assume she has his trust again. She still wants this correcting. They may be broken, but she did not cast the final blow, she never betrayed him.

He swings first but only because she’d rather use his momentum to make her attack easier.

She grabs for his arm as he reaches out, a too quick hold for him to notice in time, too swift for him to backpedal from his overextended position. A spin so her back’s to him, a sharp heave making the most of his momentum, using the strength of her back as she ducks down in place, then he’s not only overextended but also over her shoulder, flying momentarily only to land flat on his back. Hard. The oomph of air that is forced to escape his lungs says he’s unlikely to be interrupting her any time soon as she starts speaking justifications he’s never requested before.

“You want my report?” she scoffs humourlessly. “Fine. I spent four weeks in Vault D after I got you out. Gonzales may not have had the guts for torture but he made no qualms about keeping me captive and ...” she searches for the word. A word to explain the constantly too bright lights, the humiliation of being provided with only a bucket, the lack of shower or toothpaste or even a damn change of clothing, her complete refusal to sleep in the same bed that the piece of shit scumbag had occupied previously, the cold of the floor, of everywhere when Gonzales played with the temperature controls. It wasn’t torture, not to her mind. She knows torture. But that doesn’t mean it was pleasant. _“uncomfortable,”_ is the word she settles upon . 

x

Meanwhile in the surveillance room:  
_  
Everyone present turns to look at Bobbi with questions in their eyes, who is looking down at the ground ashamed. It’s her reaction that convinces them that ‘uncomfortable’ was way more of an understatement than anything else._

_“I didn’t know, not until too late on,” Bobbi starts her explanation slowly. “I was searching for Skye, I was trying to get you back safe, I...” she stops, looks down with a shake of her head and self-mocking smile. “I am making excuses,” she confirms with a sniff and raises her head showing the mocking twist to her lips and far too watery eyes. She stands up and says nothing further in explanation as though already tried guilty for her mistakes and awaiting the hangman’s noose to fall._

_The others exchange meaningful glances between themselves._

_“I guess we could send her down there,” wafts at the screen, “and let May hit her some,” Daisy suggests._

_“Shield counselling at its very best,” Hunter proclaims and they all turn back to watch the screen whilst Bobbi stands a little dumbfounded .  
_

x

“… uncomfortable.

“I stayed behind to protect the others. I held my peace to protect you. Even when that kept me locked up and unable to help them,” she continues, moving back out of his range when it becomes too difficult to continue telling him and looking at him at the same time. She looks away to the far wall, enough that she can keep the edge of his boots in sight, she can move if he moves, react if he acts. He seems content simply to lie there, listen and regain his breath.

“Gonzales liked bedtime stories you know. Not that I slept much,” she scoffs. “Turns out not everything was destroyed when Shield went down. Turns out a few files survived the flames. I’d almost forgotten how young you were eight years ago. Your reports all carefully detailing every insignificance. Always so full of praise for those around you simply doing their jobs.” She doesn’t need to say the word, she doesn’t care to ever let the name of that… place… cross her lips again.

“Melinda,” he interrupts on a breath but she’s not finished speaking and if she doesn’t get this out now then she may never.

“Fitzsimmons were young. Naive like we used to be. They needed protection. They needed my protection and I couldn’t give it to them. Gonzales liked to keep their status from me. Left me to wonder where they were, if they were in the next cell or worse. The only thing I knew, the _only_ thing for sure was that you got out. That you were safe. I couldn’t protect them because I was too damn busy PROTECTING YOU !” It hurts far too much that he’s never asked what happened, the horror in his face, the disappointment, the dawning realisation when Gonzales turned for her vote, that expression still haunts her when she thinks back. Yet he never asked. That he just assumed she’d betrayed him, assumed she’d switched teams, that he never bothered _asking_ her... that hurts. She protected him, protected them, and still he doubts her loyalties. That he doesn’t trust her hurts her far too much. Far more than she’d ever admit.

“So long as I kept my peace, you were safe and you were out there and... Gah! Why is this so hard?” she spins around when it becomes too much, lashes out at the wall of equipment, sending everything crashing down to the ground in a loud chaos . 

She hears him rise through the slight swish of the training mats but doesn’t care to move. Let him hit her, what does it even matter anymore?

She looks down at the pieces piled on the floor – she could fix that. 

If she wanted. 

If she had the energy. 

She could just pick up the top piece and put it back on its hooks on the wall. 

Then the next.

His warm hand on her shoulder doesn’t even make her jump. “I didn’t know he locked you up,” come his words quietly from behind her.

“You never came to rescue them,” she says out loud in reply, carefully moderating her voice to a monotone. _You never came to rescue me,_ is what he hears beneath the disquiet.

“So you had to join Gonzales to protect them. I understand that Melinda. I’m grateful for-” he begins his spiel of forgiveness.

“I didn’t,” she interrupts, turning quickly to face him. “I never broke. I never gave away your position. Not for me and _not_ for _them_ ,” she snaps out with a glare to back it up.

“Well you seemed pretty damn _comfortable_ ,” he says taken aback and watching as her mouth twists ugly at his throwing her words back in her face, “sitting on Gonzales’ world council when I came back for you.” That hurts. Even after the explanation, that he can still throw such an accusation at her... that hurts.

She shrugs off his hand, pushing him backwards with her own as she starts to enlighten him. Every few words another push to keep him moving - keep him off balance physically just as she feels so unsteady emotionally every time he pushes her. 

“Bobbi let me out on the fifth week. *push* 

“She let me shower. *shove* 

“Let me change clothes. *push* 

“Let me use a fucking bathroom in privacy even if I had to promise not to escape in the FIVE MINUTES she waited outside the GOD DAMN door! *SHOVE* 

“She might even have let me grab a God damn hour of sleep if we’d had the time!”

“Mel-”

“I am _not_ finished,” she whispers, deadly, letting herself get up close to spit the words into his face despite the tactical risk of opening herself to retaliation. 

“I was flown to the ship under guard,” she continues in the same whisper he’s to strain to hear, “I was locked in a conference room without anything I could feasibly utilise as a weapon or to escape. Guards on the door, down the corridor, hell everywhere I looked on that damn ship. And then Gonzales walked in with a loaded gun.”

His eyes flick to her in concern even though it is apparent that she survived the encounter. Her chances of survival hadn’t been quite so obvious when it was happening!

“He offered me a choice – join his council and I could protect you if he managed to bring you in.” She chooses not to verbalise the ‘or.’ “It got me what I needed. It got me control of the base, control of the operation to bring you in. It let me protect you AND Fitzsimmons. It was not a decision based on _comfort_ ,” she spits.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask .” 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl for beta-ing and regularly giving me inspiration!
> 
> Comments make me type faster... *hint hint*
> 
> :D


	6. A Foolish Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A foolish man who doesn’t know when to stay down, doesn’t realise that he should just give up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those of you who have already read this chapter - there was an issue with the AO3 listings.
> 
> I don't have your comments so if you left a comment on this before, please do leave me one again. If you didn't, please do leave me one anyway! Pretty please? I do love getting com-ments and knowing what people are enjoying about my fics...

Chapter 6 – A Foolish Man

“Now hit me,” he says and it takes everything in her not to do so, not to let her fist fly out with the strength of her anger. She’s better control than that. She swallows it down. The rage is useful but not now. Not against a frie- Not now.

She communicates her refusal with a flat glare then backs away to give him his personal space.

“Fine. I’ll make you.”

He darts in behind her to throw his first punch, a right to her quickly turned face which she blocks head on. The left follow up was obviously planned this time as she’s little time to dodge the blow to her body as she twists out of its way. She strikes back, a warning simply to get him to back off, to give her room to think, to move, and he chooses to block it despite the weakness of the blow. Had she been fighting another specialist she knows they’d have chosen to dodge the strike, she’d telegraphed it milliseconds before making it, rather than incurring the cost to their blocking arm – howsoever slight it might be to block a single blow, it is better by far to let your opponent wear themselves out without tasking your own muscles in the process. 

They exchange a few strikes and counters, him trying all out as she tests him but doesn’t re-taliate with any force. His style a distinct style which appears to be no style at all – a street fighter the closest she can label it, cage fighter perhaps, moving fast and hard to press every advantage with little concern for technique. Where she herself stays balanced, extend but never overextend, re-centre, re-balance, flowing from one move to the next like a dance, Phil appears to just throw something together at the last moment . 

It’s a frustration to her for more than just the simple reason that if he ever comes up against anyone with training he’s liable to get hurt - it’s almost impossible to predict where the next strike is to come from as he doesn’t even seem to know himself. There’s no preparatory shift of weight or flick of the eyes to read.

His blows are wild. Foolish. Flurry after flurry of furious hits, over-extended and out of bal-ance, everything thrown in at once to every strike without care. Berserk. Leaving himself open to retaliatory attacks she’s not taking.

It’s exhausting to fight against. 

She’s almost tempted to strike back hard just to put him on his ass to teach him a lesson about properly protecting himself even when sparring.  
Knows she won’t even so; she doesn’t actually want to hurt him. There’s been far too much of that already.

She lets a strike go wide, slips in closer rather than away as he expects, hooking an ankle be-hind his left knee knocking him swiftly to the mats. “You’re unbalanced,” she says as he goes down. He may as well learn something from this stupid plan of his.

“You’re not the first to have said it,” he tries for the joke before regaining his feet. She almost smiles at that but restrains herself. He is not funny. Not even a little bit. 

He comes at her again but she’s more distance to move, slipping him only to trip him again. Or to toss him over a shoulder. She loses track of the number of times he comes in to attack without properly protecting himself and hits the mat flat on his back before climbing to his feet again. He’s an idiot, she thinks almost fondly. A foolish man who doesn’t know when to stay down, doesn’t realise that he should just give up. 

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
 _  
“Oooooooohhhh!”_

_“Argh!”_

_“Ouch!”_

_As all of them cringe away from the screen in sympathy every time Coulson is thrown back down to the mats AGAIN._

_“He is such a glutton for punishment.”_

_“Why does he even keep getting back up?”_

_“He really should give it up now, she’s obviously the winner.”_

_“Needs to do that before he needs more reconstructive surgery.”_

_“Is he really-”_

_“Yes, yes, he’s really getting back up again.”_

_“Too many hits to the head, luv, that’s what that is right there. Man's gone barmy again.”_

 

X

A foolish man who doesn’t know when to stay down, doesn’t realise that he should just give up. Give up on them. On her. He’s never given up on her. Foolish man. She ends up smiling despite herself and he catches sight of it. The foolish man misses nothing when he’s concen-trating on the here and now.

“Don’t suppose you want to stop landing me on my back?” he asks winded as he bounces off the mats... again. She raises an eyebrow only in response as he rolls over to his hands and knees before clambering very slowly back up to his standing. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Phil, you’re old,” she says bluntly with a look.

“Then give an old man’s back a break?”

“Sure,” she shrugs and he knows it’s not that easy. He knows it alright. Still doesn’t hurt any less when she dodges his next attack, hooking his shin with an ankle seemingly without thought and planting him face first onto the poor mats. 

He groans before mumbling, “should have kept my mouth shut.”

“How many times a day do you say that to yourself?” she asks smugly when he doesn’t make any move to get up anytime soon.

“I don’t keep count. Mostly, it’s when I talk to you .” 

 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time to preface the big one that's coming on Phil's oh so questionable de-cisions recently and feeling... well... human. Hope u all like it :)


	7. Feeling Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You don’t need me,” she brushes off. “You’ve got a girl that can cause earthquakes. You’ve no need for a specialist."_

Chapter 7 – Feeling Human

 

He eventually forces himself to roll over with a groan so that he can look up at her. “Seriously though Melinda, this is not the plan.”

“The stupid plan?”

“Do we have to call it that?” 

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_  
“We could call it The Director’s Stupid Plan,” Mack speaks up._

_“Hardly narrows it down. There must be like 50 of those already,” Hunter drawls._

_“And that’s just this week’s stupid plans,” Bobbi adds with a cheekily raised eyebrow and grin._

_“Or... or Project Fight Club,” Daisy adds with an ‘oooooh’ and mystical fingers to the amusement of everyone in the room. “Well it fits! They’re like all fight to the death, come on hit me, punch me, make me bleed...” and although she starts off joking and mocking the idea it slowly hits that this is actually kind of serious. That the two are actually going to bleed before this is all over. “Do you think we should stop them?” she questions in a little girl voice._

_Everyone considers it for a few heart beats._

_“May won’t hurt him,” Bobbi finally asserts. The rest nod along with that slowly. They know it’s true. May would never hurt any of them, she’d cut off her own arm before raising it against them._

_“Doesn’t stop him hurting her,” Daisy verbalises what they all are slowly thinking._

_“We should call it ‘the plan where the Director gets his ass handed to him,’ Hunter tries valiantly to force them back onto a lighter subject but no one particularly wants to play name the stupid plan anymore._

__  
X

 

“Do we have to call it that?” 

“Yes.” He really should have expected that answer. He kind of did.

“You’re supposed to be fighting me Melinda, trying to hurt me.”

“I don’t want-”

“I know but I do! This is what we’ve agreed to try. All this sliding to the side and tripping me over nonsense is really just me hurting myself… I could just run at the wall instead if you’ve something better to do...” he trails off with a gesture at the door . 

She sighs. She’s nothing better to do and she wants to fix this... this chasm between them still. “Phil...”

“I know you don’t _want_ to hurt me. I don’t particularly want to hurt you either. But I cannot see another way round this Melinda. I don’t want to lose you,” he says and the sheer desperation in his voice as he pushes himself to sit up makes her kneel down in front of him to better hear him, better understand his reasons for this she hopes. “I need you ,” he tells the floor earnestly. 

“You don’t need me,” she brushes off. “You’ve got a girl that can cause earthquakes. You’ve no need for a specialist to protect you.”

“I’m not saying I need a specialist, though I do and you’re the best I’ve got, I’m saying that I need YOU. You, Melinda middle-name-must-not-be-mentioned-cos-you-hate-your-mother-for-it May. My friend,” he finishes and she can’t help but smile at the damn doofus and then frown at him for making her smile. Her middle name is not a laughing matter.

"I need my friend but if we can't get past this then I have to learn how to let you go. You've been gone so long and maybe you're coming back but maybe you're not and I'm... I’m losing my direction.”

She goes to interrupt, but he speaks over her “hear me out. Please.” 

Begrudgingly, she nods. 

“They come to me for everything. Everything. Because I'm the director. But I will always be Phil to you and I need that because I'm starting to forget who that guy is. You’re the only person who knows Phil. You’re the only one I know for sure... knows me. Knows when I’m me. Knows if I’m still human, still functioning, still feeling. The only one.”

“Phil, so many people know you and care about you. Our team-”

“And I care about them too. A lot. But they don’t know ‘Phil’. They don’t know me from the academy, they don’t know that I detail Lola with Q-tips or that I like strawberries but not raspberries. They wouldn’t know if I weren’t me, they wouldn’t know if I were going crazy again or if I wasn’t ...”

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_  
"What are we chopped liver?"_

_“I did not know about the raspberries and really what kind of freak doesn’t like raspberries?”_

_"I knew how he detailed Lola."_

_"Did you know he once blew up the toilet in Fury's bathroom? Really blew it up. The shit actually, literally hit the fan .”_

__

x

 

“They wouldn’t know if I weren’t me, they wouldn’t know if I were going crazy again or if I wasn’t...” 

“human?” she guesses.

His silence is as big an affirmative as if he’d shouted it from the rooftops.

“Phil, are you seriously worried that you’re inhuman?” she asks astounded. 

“No. Just. Well, not inhuman. But I’m not exactly feeling very human right now either,” he eventually settles upon.

Her hand on his knee means more to them than an enthusiastic hug would from anyone else. “Phil, you’re the most human person I know,” she confirms looking deeply into his eyes trying to convince him.

“I’ve made some bad decisions. Recently. You, you weren’t here but... I’ve let people down. I... I don’t even know if I can feel like a human being anymore,” he confesses.

“We're not inhumans, Phil, we don't get superpowers, to read the future or to redo our decisions over again. We're just plain boring old ordinary people,” she starts because he really appears to need this reassurance, this kick up the ass. 

“Nothing about you plain, boring, old or ordinary .” 

She speaks on ignoring what he's said except for the glint in her eye that tells him she's heard. “We're human. We train. We fight. We work damn hard and we do the best we can. We make decisions for the right reasons. Some of them will be wrong. Some will be right but still taste like dirt. Just occasionally we might even get to feel good about what we do. But we're only human. Fallible ordinary humans. Just doing the best we can anyway .” 

He’s silent for a while. Thinking it over.

“How do you always know what I need to hear?” he asks eventually, a slight smile taking over his lips, transforming his face from depressed to rueful acceptance.

“Superpower,” she deadpans.

He looks at her.

“I wanted super strength,” she starts

“You're the strongest person I know,” he says.

“Or invisibility,” she continues with the banter.

“I never want you to disappear.”

“But I got stuck with having to say stupid things to one Phillip Coulson.”

“I'm glad you did,” he confesses genuinely.

He waits for her to say ‘me too’. 

Waits a little longer.

 

“Nah, I'd still prefer super strength .” 

 

 

X


	8. Now It Really Starts: Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hitting you for all the stupid shit?”_

Chapter 8 – Now it really starts: Year One

 

She sighs. “This is your stupid plan,” she confirms as they take up positions again across the mats from one another.

“Yes, yes. My _stupid_ plan.”

“Hitting you for all the stupid shit?”

“Yes. And me hitting you for the stuff you’ve done too,” he replies but loses his nerve quickly at the raised eyebrow of doom, swallowing and adding, “not that you’ve probably done as much as... shall we just get on with the hitting?” 

“You know, if I start hitting you for all the stupid shit you pull, I may never stop.”

"I'll take the chance," he says endearingly with a sweet smile to back it up. Not that she considers him sweet. Nope. Not at all.

She gives him an unimpressed look. Clarifies her agreement to this stupid plan with a simple "Fine."   
Then she hits. He blocks with that damn metal hand – BLOODY FUCKING HELL that hurt! - and she steps back quickly out of range cradling her fist, looking more hurt at his actions than pissed. 

"You said to hit you," she accuses the sudden pain making her voice sharper than she intends.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to. I mean, I did but I didn't think-" 

"I'll live," she says dryly as she flexes fingers. Not broken. Good. Her eyes sharpen at him. 

_You may not_ he hears the unspoken threat. 

Gulps. 

 

X

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
 _  
“Oooh she is ang-er-ry!”_

_“Nope that’s only death glare level one... two at the very most. She’s barely anywhere close to irritated at that level.”_

_“She wouldn’t kill him anyway.”_

_“Yeah, Shield frowns on killing your bosses, more a Hydra thing to move up the ladder a little,” Hunter confirms blithely ._

_Bobbi smiles like she knows something, but then that’s always how she smiles so... “That’s _a_ reason,” she voices making it quite clear that it’s not _the_ reason._

__  
x

 

"I'll live," she says dryly as she flexes fingers. Not broken. Good. Her eyes sharpen at him.   
_You may not_ he hears the unspoken threat . 

She inhales deeply, centring herself, refocusing. “Don’t forget you asked for this,” she warns him. 

His last warning.

Then she goes at him in a whirlwind of kicks too fast for him to consciously see, predict and evade but which most of his body is managing to instinctively shift away from as he stumbles back and then around the mats, scrambling to keep moving to avoid the attacks as he says “Reasons May! REASONS!” half frantic. 

"Reasons?!? YOU are the god damned reason!" she hisses out almost silently. She doesn’t get loud when she’s angry, she doesn’t shout and rage; she goes quieter, deadlier.

"Okay, more specifics then." 

“Kids on the bus,” a fist flies at his head, just barely brushing past an ear as he dodges sideways with a startled expression.

“Skye.” Kick. “on.” Kick. “the bus.” A rapid scissor kick that nearly takes his head off and certainly leaves him leaning backwards, arms flailing in cartoon style panic as he strains not to end up flat on his back once again.

“Camilla!” *strike!*

“What?!?” he questions throwing his replacement hand up in front of him to pause the fight, as well as in threat of using it to block any further punches she feels the need to throw at his face. It might deter her. It probably won’t. “How is that my fault?!”

Her eyes flash danger and he’s stepped back away before he’s consciously aware of his wish to retreat to a safer distance from the danger.

“YOU took us to the middle of nowhere without adequate backup,” she starts off, happy to educate him in these particular failings.

“That-”

“YOU claimed that she was a friend so we trusted her to come on board the bus.” She continues with the strikes, forcing him to dance on the defensive, to block and weave, to move, stumble and trip out of the ferocity of her attack.

“I-”

“YOU let us be outnumbered, YOU let us trust them and then YOU nearly went for a flying lesson outside the side of the damn plane!”

“To be fair, I had nothing to do with the plan to blow a hole in the side of my plane,” he justifies with a smile that she simply finds condescending right now . 

 

x

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
 _  
“That was a group effort AND we saved the day!” Daisy complains loudly at the screen._

_“We did!” Fitz agrees passionately._

_“How can they even argue about that, we were so cool.”_

_“We so were.”_

_“I mean we like broke free of handcuffs, crashed a car THROUGH a door, set off an explosion with an alien artefact and then SAVED THE DAY!” Daisy counts off each point on her fingers._

_“Well, most of that was Agent May but-”_

_“We helped!” Daisy rebuts._

_“We so helped,” Fitz agrees with a nod of certainty that can NOT be disputed ._

__  
X

 

“Then you went in the field!” Melinda continues, meeting him in the centre of the mats again with quick strikes that leave him ducking and dodging barely in the nick of time.

“You didn’t want to!” He justifies quickly, throwing an overhead swipe that almost catches her as she spirits away. He follows up, feeling justified as he throws a few more punches – he’s never been great at judging the kicks fast enough to stay on his feet around Melinda. Not that he’s doing all that much better with the punching and staying upright. 

“You wanted me back out there! That’s the only reason you exposed yourself to such danger! You were manipulating me and you know it.” Case in point, he thinks ruefully, as she grabs for his wrist, spinning, introducing her elbow to his stomach with breath-stealing results, before dropping him to the ground. Again . 

He coughs pathetically as his lungs relearn how to breathe, watches as she hesitates thinking him more injured than he is. He hunches over, coughs again, wheezes, and grabs for her behind the knees when she comes in too close. He grins as he brings her down, cushioning her fall with his arms beneath her upper back but ending up cradling her, poised kneeling above her as her eyes laugh at him.

“For the record,” she starts, “If you try manipulating me again I WILL punch you in the face. ”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he shrugs it off.

“I’d rather _you_ didn’t,” she retorts immediately.

“Noted. If try to manipulate Melinda, expect a punch to face when she realises.”

“Phil!”

“What? It’s mentally noted.”

Her lips draw into a tight line as her eyes narrow at him.

“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t try to manipulate you again.”

“Try me.”

“I won’t try to manipulate you again,” he says earnestly.

“… Liar.”

 

x


	9. Maaaaaaaybe kissing. Maybe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting, kissing and betting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Philinda sneaking in just cos it's the holidays :)
> 
> This chap has taken oh so many redrafts and much kicking about the room! Kudos to Devilgrrl who has helped me kick it around her rooms too to try and get it into some semblance of readability and kept me sorta sane!

Chapter 9 – Maaaaaayyybe kissing. Maybe.

 

“Liar.”

“Yep,” Phil says smiling down at her. They’ve never pretended to be anything else. At least to each other.

It’s only then that she particularly notices just how close his face is, just how firm his arms around her back feel still supporting her slightly above the mats, how hot her body feels after the work out of chasing him around the mats. She loves the adrenaline of a good fight. Blood pumping. Muscles aching. Lungs straining for breath. That’s all this is in response to – the fight. A good fight is almost better than sex! And why the hell did she think of sex right now!? 

She gulps quickly to try to get her tongue to work inside a dry mouth. To find something to say to distract from the fact that she’s just lying here silently in his arms whilst he holds her. Her lips part of their own volition as she strives to breathe through air that has suddenly become thick. His eyebrows arch in question and she’s about to push him away when a droplet of sweat meets that eyebrow, resting for a bubble of a minute, before sliding steadily around the side of his forehead, speeding up as it runs down the side of his face unchecked, dropping almost out of sight around the firmness of his jaw. Her head twists subconsciously so her eyes can keep it in sight as it drips to trickle down his throat, a wet trail in its wake as it continues more slowly down to the open collar of his shirt. She gulps in echo of the bob of his throat when he does likewise, tongue brushing over her lips as though she can almost taste – oh how she wants to taste ! 

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
_  
“He’s gonna kiss her,” Daisy states as the rest of them sit in stunned amazement. “Oh my actual God… he’s really gonna do it…”_

_“No, he’s not,” Bobbi says bored._

_“Who’s today?! Who’s today?! Come on, Daisy! Check,” Hunter dances about excitedly, “Check it now. Come on. It could be my bet. Is it mine? Is it? Iiiiiiiisss it? Damn it the suspense is killing me! Just tell me!”_

_“If it’s today then it’s looking like it’s… yep, it’d be Fitz,” Daisy grins after checking her phone and the ever increasing betting pool. “The gym remains a hot favourite on the locations pool with nearly half the base betting on that despite the fact that Coulson pretty much never goes in there and the other half seem to have been betting on Lola. I mean, don’t they KNOW how much Coulson looks after that car. Sure he’d let May drive it bu-”_

_“Her.” “Her.” Fitz and Mach correct simultaneously._

_“He’d let May drive HER but getting her dirty… nope, never gonna happen. I still thought maybe his office…you know that desk…” Daisy bemoans._

_“Well, whatever,” Hunter grumps, “I should totally have already won the pot anyway.”_

_“There was no proof, Hunter. No proof, no evidence, no one even claimed to see it,” Daisy explains for probably the hundreth time since ‘it’ happened. Or didn’t happen. Whatever._

_“We ALL know it happened.”_

_“Did not.”  
“It so did not.” _

_“They TURNED OFF their comms.”_

_“Which is not synonymous with kissing, Hunter. Gah.”_

_“They were on a mission,” Hunter starts ticking them off on his fingers, “They were undercover. The adrenaline was pumping. They were-”_

_“They were on mission, they wouldn’t-” Daisy tries to interrupt._

_“On mission’s the best place, luv,” Hunter corrects with a smirk at Bobbi that she returns only with her eyes._

_“There wasn’t even enough-,” Daisy tries as a last ditch attempt._

_“There was plenty of time,” Hunter confirms with a further leer that everyone in the room is trying their best to ignore._

_There’s silence for a moment longer whilst the idea sinks in._

_“They were so kissing.”_  
“Yep.”  
“Oh yeah.”  
“Definitely.” 

_“No evidence – so you still don’t win the pool,” Fitz concludes simply despite Hunter’s protestations about fairness and biased judges._

_“We all know it happened and I called it so that pot is basically mine,” Hunter gloats. “This whole not simply taking it thing is really just another facet of my magnanimous personality…”_

_“Sure it is, Hunter,” Mack confirms gamely, “and it has nothing to do with the fact that Tremors here could bring the ceiling down on you if you tried to take the pot.”_

_Daisy and Mack exchange a quick low five as they turn back to face the screen leaving Hunter doing a fair impression of a goldfish._

_“They need to get a room,” Mack suggests simply speaking over his whining._

_“They have one,” Bobbi points out._

_“A PRIVATE room?”_

_Daisy scoffs “Like you can talk!”_

_“Hey!””Hey!” conjoined ‘heys’ from the usual perpetrators before they consult with one another, “Did she?”_  
“Yeah.”  
“And that time?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Not when we?!”  
“Oh yeeeeeeahh.”  
“Oh.” 

_“We’ll try to be more discrete in the future,” Bobbi promises earnestly._

_There are four scoffing snorts in response to that statement. Yes, four. The other three turn to look at Hunter accusingly whilst Bobbi pins him with a quick glare._

_“Yeah, even I don’t believe that one. Sorry Bob .”_

__  
x

 

“Phil,” she says breathlessly, not sure whether she wants him to stop them or push things further.

He hesitates for a moment, an indeterminate length of time where they lay, fully aware of the tension between them, the proximity of their chests heaving, the heat between them.

Her eyes fall shut as he leans down closer over her face…

 

x 

_Daisy squeals so loudly it’s surprising that it’s not heard throughout the county never mind the entirety of the base and therefore the gym. “He’s sooo gonna kiss her!”_

x 

 

The kiss to the end of her nose tickles enough to make her nose wrinkle, eyes flying open in wordless criticism before morphing into a highly unimpressed glare at his totally calculated and frankly patronising move to dissolve the tension . 

 

x 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room... 

_“Noooooooooooo,” Daisy bemoans with her face in her hands._

_“Kinda slick, Director. Man’s got a long play running. Gotta admire him sticking to the plan,” Mack nods at the screen sounding impressed._

_Bobbi’s lips purse in distaste._

_“That’s still a kiss. Still a kiss. It should count. It’s still a kiss. No one specified where the kiss had to be. That’s a kiss. His lips to her skin is a kiss,” Fitz rambles in an attempt to convince everyone purely through number of words per second._

_“Fitz if you’re classing that as a kiss then we need to have man-words, man,” Hunter shakes his head with false concern._

_Bobbi eventually voices her concern that “He should have just kissed her. Now she’s really going to kick his ass .”_

x 

__

 

“Kissing after the fighting remember,” he reminds her before releasing his arms from behind her, letting her drop down to the mat, and making a move to get up off of her. 

She grabs the collar of his shirt (bemoaning the absence of his usual tie) before he goes too far, dragging him back down and her own head up until they’re practically close enough to kiss, “the kissing’s a MAY-be remember,” she emphasises, repeating his words from earlier then uses her body weight to haul him to one side as she regains her feet with grace.

His muttered, “Maybe. I can work with ‘maybe’”, she not only hears but stands stunned in response for a few moments as her thoughts fly in a whirl of confusion, temptation and regret.

He’s gained his feet whilst she’s thinking, dashing across the gap, engaging with a series of rapid punches, a boxer’s stance, and she slips left and right ducking the punches without issue despite their speed. She slips away out of reach and gives him the condescending smirk that so often will be enough to push an opponent over into anger and a loss of control.

She’s not overly surprised when it doesn’t work – he’s far more control than to be taken in by so simple an exacerbation but she is surprised at how much fun is in his face and at the wink he throws her way.

She strikes fast, her foot aimed squarely at his chest but he blocks her foot hard pushing back at her and making her stumble slightly before she regains her balance. Before she’s really recovered Phil is on her. He’s fast as he follows through, strike after strike, forcing her onto the defensive momentarily and she sweeps ineffectually with a kick to attempt to regain the distance between them. Phil has the seeming advantage in close quarters – he’s taller, stronger and has the longer reach in both arms and legs. She relies upon her speed to evade rather than block when she can but is forced backwards across the mat by the endless flurry of blows. 

 

X

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_  
“Daaaaaaaaaamn! Director’s got skills!”_

_“Yeah! You show her, sir!”_

_“He’s on fire! Look at him go!”_

_“I didn’t even know the guy COULD fight let alone fight like-”_

_“Damn sir!”_

_“I mean really that is… FAST and SHIT! He actually had her then!”_

_“Come on Director! Do it for us!”_

_“Do it for yourself!”_

_“Do it for men everywhere that are fucking fed up of getting their asses handed to them by that tiny little Asian woman !”_  
“Show her how a man do dis!”  
The sound of two clearing throats off to the men’s left makes all of them freeze suddenly, cringing over at the anticipated berating they are about to receive. They turn almost as one to face those unimpressed expressions, interrogated by raised eyebrows and intimidated by folded arms. 

_“As I was saying, gentlemen,” Hunter drawls out slowly, pretending as though nothing has ever happened, “he is so gonna get his ass kicked by that gorgeous little woman out there.”_

_The dual snorts from the women come immediately._

_“Oh yeah, definitely.”_

_“Couldn’t agree more in fact.”_

_“I do love strong women,” Hunter mock sighs, eyes totally fixed on Bobbi._

_“You just like anyone who can kick your butt.”_

_“So, that’s basically everyone.”_

_“I have a particular fancy for tall, blonde, kickass, Shield agents at the moment actually,” Hunter smirks as Bobbi’s lips twitch in a manner that says she’s close to forgiving him. He gives her the lost little puppy dog eyes._

_“Fine. You’re forgiven,” she huffs throwing arms in the air._

_“She might forgive you. I’m still telling May that you called her gorgeous AND little,” Daisy mocks trying and again failing terribly at copying his accent._

_“What?! It’s a compliment! Geesh! And a statement of fact thank you very much indeedy! She is little. You’ve seen her. What is she like four foot tall or something?! She’s minute. Practically a midget! Have you seen her without her heels?! I mean really she’s lucky no one’s reported her as a lost child before!”_

_“I’m her height,” Daisy says simply, “Aaaaaand I just recorded all of that so guess who’s going to be doing all of my inventory duties for the next four weeks…” she says twirling her phone in her hand in delight._

_Hunter raises his hand, gestures in front of him as though he’s about to say something profound but then can’t quite find the words so just ends up wafting his hand in the air for a few moments._

_“Never thought I’d see him lost for words,” Mack grins._

_“Gee thanks, Mack. Grateful for the show of support,” Hunter bemoans. “You’re gorgeous too of course,” he tries wheedling his way back into Daisy’s good graces._

_“That’s two women you’ve called gorgeous in the past five minutes, Hunter,” Bobbi explains wholly unimpressed. “Neither of which were me.”_

_“Bob-“ he starts and the others turn quickly back to the screens in order to stay out of what is most likely to become yet another Hunter/Bobbi pre-sex fight ._

__  
x

 

May deliberately takes a blow to the stomach, twisting sideways to let it glance off as she follows with the momentum of the strike, grabbing at the offending wrist and pulling to spin him off balance in front of her. As she turns, she kicks a knee forward into the back of Phil’s leg collapsing him to his knees to give her a moment to breathe. The victory is short lived as Phil twists back in to face her, the other arm swooping about her own knees, pulling from behind and tossing her off balance over his shoulder. She hates being airborne without her plane. 

She turns the throw into a roll at the last minute, landing heavily off her right wrist which makes clear that it’s injured from the spike of pain that hits her as she pushes off it up into a stand. She hates the landing more than the flight. It’s the landing that inevitably hurts.

Phil follows up, colour her almost impressed, pressing the advantage to come up close behind her as she rolls into a stand. She ducks before turning, anticipating the grab for a head lock that comes as soon as he reaches her. As she spins she aims a counter-blow at his side, but he has side-stepped her and sweeps a foot low to trip her. 

It’s the first time he’s used his legs, honestly she wondered whether he’d forgotten he had some! 

The sudden switch in technique impresses her even as she leaps backwards out of reach. He was apparently lulling her into a false sense of security by performing so badly, or so well at being so bad at sparring. She of all people knows better than to ever underestimate Coulson. It annoys her almost as much as it impresses.

Almost. 

She’s still more annoyed.

She glares across the distance at him, unimpressed by his grin at having fooled her. He shrugs unconcerned. Her eyes roll of their own volition and he laughs a single bark of laughter. They’ve never needed words to understand. She’s more relieved than she can express that they apparently still don’t. The smile that stretches her lips is genuine even as she nods her compliments across to him, watching him warily as both their chests heave from the exertion. Respect.

Now they dance.

 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what ya think? I love knowing ppl are enjoying my little ficlets...
> 
> Also, give me ideas of what other things our adorkable Phil and kickass Melinda need to address. I already have Tahiti, him dying and her not telling him about the little girl... *sob*
> 
> Give me ideas ppl and I will try to work them in! :D
> 
> Ax


	10. Now They Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chap today. Will get more sorted and up soon... hopefully!

Chapter 10 – Now they dance.

 

Now they dance.

They advance and retreat across the entirety of the gym space, levelling accusations as verbal spears, driving force to their blows.

"You believed I was the clairvoyant," she accuses with a swift strike to the side of his hastily moved head.

"Not seriously," he tries to justify as he dodges backwards, spinning from the follow up strikes whilst trying to keep her form in sight expecting an aerobatic move he’ll have fractions of seconds to counter at any moment. 

"You shot me," she continues, grabbing for his arm as he blocks a hit. He can hear the hurt underneath her too blank voice, see the pain dwelling deep in her dark eyes and his heart aches that he’s the cause. That he’s never adequately apologised. That he’s never explained.

"Only with an icer," he starts to explain, begins to justify and attempt to heal this bridge between them. He would never shoot her for real. He could never hurt her. Not like that. He needs her to know, needs to explain so that she understands even as he swipes an arm to block her too slow attack. No longer is fury lending strength or speed to her strikes, pain and hurt is sapping it instead. 

"Still hurt," she interrupts before he can get any of the planned explanation out. It hurt more that he'd actually fired and locked her up than the dendrotoxin headache she got afterwards. 

"I’m sorry. I-" he begins but before he can continue she clocks him a stunningly painful blow to the ear. He staggers slightly in place , rubbing a palm against his stinging ear subconsciously. “Ow,” he says plaintively, still watching her carefully in case she follows through.

“Hurts?” she asks almost casually.

“Yeah…” he confirms then catches the twinkle of mischief deep in her dark eyes and finds himself smiling along with her anyway as he rubs again at his now throbbing ear. “We even?” he chances asking.

“For that,” she confirms. _Not for his other transgressions,_ is left unsaid. 

He groans at the thought of more pain to come, finds himself muttering beneath his breath about his own “stupid, stupid plan” but can’t find it in himself to be too upset as he catches a twitch to the corners of her lips that belies how much fun she’s having now they’re really getting into the swing of sparring with one another again. He really should have taken her up on her offer to lay out the mats earlier. Amongst other things .

He drops his hand away from his ear, falling back into his old stance with growing familiarity and prepares as best as he can for her next attack. The old rhythm of attack and defend, of advance and retreat, almost peaceful in its complexity and yet simple when compared to the battle waged in thoughts, feelings, accusations, betrayals and hope. 

That last drives them both.

One attacks forcing the other to defend. Then seamlessly they switch, choreographed to perfection, except it’s not. They just know one another; know one another well enough to predict, to anticipate, to dance.

"You cuffed me and forced me to walk unarmed through hostile territory where I couldn't protect you," she attacks again. It’s still her turn. Her turn until it’s his. There’s no need for explanation - they’ll both know when that is. 

"Er... yeah, that was kind of the whole not quite trusting you thing-" he begins, but is quickly cut off as she catches him in the solar plexus with a foot. He leaps backwards, a number of steps following to put distance between them, to enable him to continue with his words "which you have already more than sufficiently hurt me for I think." 

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
 _  
“Ahhh that age old argument of trust and relationships with the added complication of being professional spies,” Hunter starts morosely trailing off sullenly._

_“Hunter-” Bobbi starts but is interrupted._

_“Upon which I have absolutely no opinion,” Hunter continues swiftly. “Anyone for a beer? I need a beer. Mack? Turbo? Daisy?” he questions on his way out of the door. It’s clear that their answers don’t matter as he hurries out of the room without waiting for answers._

_Three pairs of eyes turn deliberately back to the screens rather than even hazarding an uncomfortable glance over to Bobbi._

_“Running away from uncomfortable conversations never helped either,” Bobbi says with a disappointed sigh._

_“At least neither of THEM is running away,” she gestures to the screen sadly._

_“I just hope they end this before neither of them can walk.”_

__

 

"Er... yeah, that was kind of the whole not quite trusting you thing-" he begins, but is quickly cut off as she catches him in the solar plexus with a foot. He leaps backwards, a number of steps following to put distance between them, to enable him to continue with his words "which you have already more than sufficiently hurt me for I think." 

She follows him, a simple explanation - "I don't." It’s simple but painful as he takes a glancing blow to the shoulder before returning fire.

Clashes and grunts of force sound as they meet to exchange blows, taking hits, landing blows, a cacophony of blustering violence… before one will spin away, breaking the urgency, and they’ll stalk warily around one another again. A pain filled dance as they advance and retreat, spinning and swirling rapidly into and away from one another. 

 

X

 

Meanwhile back in the surveillance room…  
 _  
You could hear a pin drop as everyone watches the screen intently, beers seemingly forgotten, barely blinking so as not to miss an instant from where they sit. Or stand - there being insufficient chairs for everyone and whilst Fitz is content to prop himself on Daisy’s knee, Hunter refuses to ‘be the girl’ in sitting on Bobbi’s lap and let’s face it Bobbi is far too tall for him to be able to see ‘a dicky bird’ around her if they tried it the other way, and well Hunter shrieked girlishly when Mack tried to drag him onto his lap and so... Hunter stands. Gobsmacked._

 __  
x

A pain filled dance as they advance and retreat, spinning and swirling rapidly into and away from one another. Their words causing deeper wounds than any strike. Exposing vulnerabilities.

The whole shit list comes out, minor complaints and issues that each hadn’t realised they still harboured, words forced out between hits and kicks and punches. Her strikes hit more often than not but he catches her as well on occasion. Neither knows whether his reasons leave her stunned enough that he clocks a hit or whether some part of her simply decides to let it through as justified 'punishment' in accordance with his stupid rules of this stupid fight. 

“Your stupid plans,” is her next snarl on the back of that thought. 

He finds his thoughts agreeing with her as she takes him to the ground. But he can’t leave it at that alone. His arms wrap around her uncaring of the pain of the blows she inflicts when he’s left without defence, bringing her down on top of him to cushion her fall. He may bring her down but he’ll break the fall if he can. Even if his plan is stupid. “I thought you liked my plans,” he tries to push for a little levity, holding her to him for as long as he can.

“Not the stupid ones,” she clarifies attempting to push up off of him.

He halts her progress again with his greater strength, arm behind her back simply dragging her back down atop him until they’re pressed far too close for her to feel comfortable given their previous heated embrace. “Come on, even some of the stupid ones,” he pushes. He always pushes.

“Some,” she agrees grudgingly. Very grudgingly. “Not the rest,” she confirms with a flat look that dares him to push it further. This is his stupid plan. The response he invites if he pushes it further is his own stupid fault.

“This one?” he asks moments before she pushes up high enough to punch him in the stomach, forcing his arms to release her as he coughs and tries to convince his body to relearn how to breathe.

“Reserving judgement.”

 

X


	11. Doing Stupid Shit!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You attackwed me dwen i wasn’t looking,” she accuses but the effect is somewhat lessened by her inability to growl it at him or to fix him with the glare he knows she’s dying to level at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it has been so so soo long between updates - I have well and truly been abandoned by my muse. :(

Chapter 11 – Doing Stupid Shit!

“If I’m coming back -“

“If?!” he leaps upon the word like it mugged his mother for groceries. Twice.

She frowns at him for the over played over reaction – he already knows that they’re not there yet, that she’s not there yet. He’s too good at reading people to not know, far too good at reading her specifically for the astonishment in his tone to be anything other than faked. Faked to attempt to manipulate her once more. This time to get her to answer the question of whether she’s staying with Shield, with him. It’d sting if she wasn’t so very used to him and his ways.

His face wipes away the shocked expression, the mask dropped within seconds of her frown calling him on the too obvious attempt. A hand raises in concession, gesturing her to go on as though he hadn’t interrupted.

She shakes out her steadily stiffening shoulders, moving to circle the mats again encouraging him physically to do likewise before she speaks. “You need to stop sending me away before you do stupid shit.”

“What?” The little puzzled frown that crosses his face is more adorable than faked.

“You get rid of me before you do stupid shit,” she confirms and if it grates slightly across her throat with the hint of a low growl communicating her dissatisfaction then so be it.

“I do not.” She uses the opportunity his slight lax in guard gives her to swipe a few kicks at his legs as he jumps and dodges out of reach of each.

“You do,” she confirms simply whilst in motion with a follow up combination targeting his upper torso, down low again, keeping him moving, keeping him reacting on the defensive.

“Not,” he speaks out almost immediately, the fight not quite distracting him from the conversation, his body moving in time, in the old patterns it half remembers from training times too long ago.

Her raised eyebrow criticises him for both his uncharacteristic brevity and the childishness of his answer. “”Invading” Oahu?” she pushes with possible the decision that annoyed her most of all of the silly little niggles that had worried at her when he was keeping secrets – he knew how much she loved Hawaii, could have so easily taken her on that mission, SHOULD have taken her on that mission. Decided not to.

“I needed you running the base,” he justifies striking high, too high as she easily drops, dodging left as his fist makes an attempt for her side, a quick shift of feet as he follows her motion forcing her to spin to escape away. He did not need her running the base. The base runs itself. 

“Chasing down Skye’s father and his merry band of misfits?”she challenges as she fights back again.

“I needed you,” he ducks quickly, strikes back, “looking after Skye,” he finishes up, attempting to justify himself, to keep up with the conversation even as she pushes him harder to match her physically.

“Look how well that turned out,” she scoffs without pause, the sarcasm and self-loathing in her voice hard enough to slap in him in the face.

“Don’t,” he interrupts immediately, taking the blow from her foot to his upper thigh that his choice to prioritise emphasising himself verbally means sacrificing his full attention from her strikes. This is more important. _She_ is more important than any physical bruise he might end up with.

An arching eyebrow above her dark eyes questions his inattention as much as his words but she doesn’t push either as he drops his stance entirely to raise a single finger (the Finger of DoomTM!) up before her eyes. “Don’t,” he repeats, eyes flashing at her own, daring her to try him on this.

She says nothing.

Does nothing. Doesn’t attack. Doesn’t drop her stance. Hell she doesn’t even drop the damned questioning eyebrow.

He answers, “Just... don’t put yourself down like that. What happened to Skye was not your fault.”

She scoffs and resumes the fight, forcing him to defend as she attacks, “I told her to control her powers by pushing them down,” she snaps out punches more violently as she continues and he’s hard pressed to turn them away as she fights herself more than him, “bottling them up inside,” lashing out at the external target he presents for her anger, “controlling her breathing like that was going to be a magic cure for everything she was going through!” she shouts out, crashing him back against the cushioned pillar with finality. “She followed my instructions,” she says calmer, quieter but by no means assuaged. “Followed exactly what I told her to do,” she continues and he stays quiet knowing that she needs to say this out loud, needs to speak the words her mind will have been tormenting her with if he’s any chance to help her through it. “and she ended up hurt,” she finishes telling the room, the mat, anyone but him as her eyes refuse to meet his own.

“You-“

Her eyes flash up to his and the desperation in them makes his voice crack, heart aching for her, even as she steps aggressively back into his space, covering her perceived weakness in a cloak of fury that would convince any random stranger. “I told her what to do and she got hurt. Tell me; who else is to blame?” she hisses at him, body tight, a coiled serpent ready to strike.

“You didn’t know-“ he tries placating, sympathising. He’s been there. His decisions have cost agents their lives. Hundreds of agents their lives. They make decisions, they will make mistakes. They live with it. Does he blame himself? 

Okay, bad example. Of course he blames himself. But she didn’t know any better. None of them did.

“Ignorance is not an excuse,” she snaps.

“Maybe not. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for doing what you believed was right,” he says gently, ignoring the parallel within himself to focus upon her. None of them knew how to help Skye at the time. He’d put it to her to deal with. Probably shouldn’t have left her floundering alone trying to sort everything but he’d had bigger problems on his plate and he’d known that out of everyone she was the one that would try the hardest. She was the one that would do the best anyone could and then a little more on top of that because damn it she was the best he had even if she doesn’t believe it herself!

She scoffs and turns her back to walk away – a tactic error she would never normally permit herself to make, not even in training. He appreciates the stupidity of what he’s about to attempt as he decides upon the course of action and reassures himself that if it all goes wrong at least only Melinda is here to see it... and she’s seen him in far more embarrassing position throughout their friendship. He takes the two long strides required, propelling himself off his stronger right leg into the air even as she turns to face him in surprise at his swift footsteps. Her eyes widen brilliantly then he loses sight of her face as his body twists away from her, spinning mid air as his leg comes around. 

The thud of impact jarring from his foot tells him that his kick has made contact with something but he doesn’t know what until the few moments after he’s landed, slightly stumbling but without his face meeting the mat (thank you any deity that is not an Asgardian hell bent on taking over the planet!) and turns about. His glory at successfully pulling off a spinning kick and not embarrassing himself is short lived as he catches sight of the blood trailing down through the clenched fingers cupped across her face.

… Oops.

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
__

_“Is everyone else seeing what I’m seeing?” Daisy whispers in shocked awe, rubbing the back of her hand to sooth away the pinch of pain._

_“Realistically speaking, not a one of us can answer that question without further information because none of us standing here can actually say for certain what you are seeing and thus we have no frame of reference to base our ascertains against...” Fitz rambles, his wide eyes never leaving the screens._

_“I think I saw...” Mack starts off similarly hushed, “but that can’t be right,” he concludes quickly._

_“I’ve never seen him move like that,” Bobbi asserts, her body has leaned forwards to more closely observe the monitors in an uncharacteristic display of her true feelings on a subject. “I’ve never seen May NOT move like that either,” she continues in a more amused tone. Who would’ve thought May would let someone get the jump on her for real?!_

_“So, you’re saying we all saw the same... things... happen?” Daisy tries again seeking reassurance that her mind is not playing tricks on her._

_“Well, that would be impossible to-“ Fitz starts again with the babble._

_“Saw Director leap into the air: check,” Hunter starts loudly, with no consideration for the fact that the rest of them having been speaking in awed hushed voices up to now, and draws everyone’s eyes from the monitors to his currently casually lounging form as he ticks his comments off on his raised fingers in turn. “Saw May stand there gobsmacked for about three milliseconds – granted it is more milliseconds that we ever thought we’d see her stand in shock whilst being attacked but, yep, my watch says three whooooole milliseconds. So, stand waiting to get kicked in the face: check. Saw the Director’s foot actually kick Agent Melinda do-not-mess-with-me-I-will-end-you in the face May: check. Saw her not beat him to a bloody pulp directly thereafter...” he trails off and everyone pirouettes in tandem hurriedly back to the screens, frantic not to miss anything._

_“Check... so far anyway.”_

__

 

“You bwoke my dose,” she says. Well tries to say. She’s tilting her head backwards letting his form drop out of sight, certain that he’s not one to attack her whilst she’s not looking... oh wait! 

“I didn’t mean to,” he grimaces in sympathy, cautiously keeping his distance. 

“You attackwed me dwen i wasn’t looking,” she accuses but the effect is somewhat lessened by her inability to growl it at him or to fix him with the glare he knows she’s dying to level at him.

“I er... I was trying to distract you from your train of thought,” he admits sheepishly. Her wet sounding snort makes him feel a little guilty. He hadn’t meant to actually break anything, just to engage her with the fight again so that he could draw out more of the anger and guilt poisoning her soul.

“Oh, good jwob,” she congratulates him sarcastically.

He moves a little closer cautiously, trying to get a better look at her injuries. “Did I really break it?” he almost daren’t ask as his hands come up to her wrists, pulling gently in silent request to let him see.

“Dwo,” she sulks at him, hissing as he presses with fingers on too sore areas. “If woou had-“

“Yeah, yeah, you’d kick my ass,” he repeats the often repeated threat.

“Nope,” she surprisingly contradicts him wetly. “Not your ass. I’d’ve bwoken your nose again in return,” she confirms simply, lifting her head away from his hands and pressing around the injury again herself.

“Maybe you could get it straight this time?” he asks happily enough with her bantering response. The number of times his poor nose has been broken it’s a wonder that it’s still content to be attached to his face really.

“You blame me for that?” she questions faux astonishment lacing her tone. “You were the one who kept insisting that everything was fine and refusing to go to medical!”

“So it’s my fault?” he checks her back. “You always blame me for everything!” he remarks smirking as they fall back into familiar patterns.

The sudden tensing of her body, the rounding of her shoulders, the tightening of her expression says he’s lost her. 

“Not always,” she confirms quietly morose.

“Not always,” he repeats.

 

No, not always. 

Usually, she blames herself. 

 

X

 

"You were accusing me of shipping you off out of the way before I did something dangerous I believe," he says breaking into her thoughts.

"Hardly a subtle change of subject," she scoffs at him, wiping her hands upon a casually flung towel over the benches. The attempt makes little difference, red still staining her hands.

"You should go to medical," he says because he should but knows full well that there is no way she'll go to medical over a bloody nose.

"And tell them that the Director kicked me in the face?"

He chuckles lightly at the way that conversation might go - no, their team mates would never believe it. They're better off not knowing. "Concerned you'll never live it down?"

"Concerned you might not," she retorts immediately.

"I think my reputation is more likely to go up in standing for landing one on the famously untouchable Agent May."

"Not when you're carried in unconscious by her."

"Er... yeah okay," he concedes quickly. This is between the two of them anyway, there's no way they'd actually tell anyone else. This is personal. Private. No one else ever needs to know. "So, you were saying..."

"Oh so subtle," she repeats sarcastically.

"More subtle than my last attempt," he counters with a gesture at her face.

“Your redirects have never been all that subtle,” she criticises.

“You’re saying you’ve just-“  
“Been letting you get away with them? Yeah, sometimes.”

“Kinda sneaky.”

A raised eyebrow is her only response.

“Yeah yeah, pot meet kettle.”

 

He inhales and stands back up straight with a groan. “You were complaining that I send you out of the way before doing something stupid… which I don’t think I do by the way.”

“You don’t do something stupid or don’t send me away beforehand?”

“Well… both now that you mention it.”

“You risked your life by going in the memory machine.”

“How do you know about that? Did I tell you that I-“

Melinda looks at him confused for a moment. “Skye told me immediately after they let her out, told me they needed me to come back and kick some sense into your thick skull.” 

“Oh. Then. Right.”

Her lips twist in disapproval. “Tell me,” she demands simply. The thought crosses his mind to lie, to cover his oh so obvious slip up. He could do it convincingly too. It’s a gift. A burden. If he got away with lying less then maybe he wouldn’t try using it so often. He sighs at the path his thoughts have taken – lying as a first defence again, this time not even in response to a real attack, only to avoid telling an uncomfortable truth.

No. They’ll do this better this time around.

“When Hydra grabbed me that first year…?” he starts off convinced that telling the truth is the right thing to do in this instance, but still his words run out as her eyebrows narrow in concern and his mouth grows dry.

She nods encouraging him silently to continue and he swallows before ploughing on ahead.

“At first they were forcing me to relive memories, trying to dig through the gaps to find information on Tahiti. Later… I wanted to know for myself.” He pauses for a moment, trying to find the words and she lets him have the time. “Raina gave me clues about what had happened. She opened my eyes to the possibility that my mind held the answers; that the machine could help me find the answer.”

“You-“

“I went into the machine voluntarily, I co-operated with its search through my brain. “

“You-“

“I wanted answers,” he implores her to understand. “I was going crazy, driving myself crazy with not knowing.”

“You-“

“The risk seemed worth the potential rewards!” He can’t comprehend how she doesn’t understand. It was WORTH IT! He’s empassioned. “MY DEATH-“

Bam! 

The punch to his left cheek stuns him into silence. Then it hurts like hell! His hand comes up to press against the pain, fingers coming away wet where the skin has split slightly. By tomorrow it’ll probably have bruised over too. He’s going to look like he got beat up. As he chances a glance at Melinda, he appreciates that they're both going to have to come up with a cover story. 

Something more believable than the truth.

 

x

 

“My turn,” she snarls, rage barely leashed and he gulps quickly taking a step backwards in anticipation of her attack. “You risked your LIFE. Just after I’d got you back. You went in that damned machine. And then you did it again. You got rid of me. You SENT me on mission.”

“Last year, I didn’t plan to-“

“You sent me with Bobbi.”

“You needed her contacts in the area.”

“You needed her out of the way too. And Hunter?”

“He’s decent backup.”

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
__

_"Decent backup?" Hey, don’t lay the praise on too thick, Director. A guy can get a big head, you know. Decent backup indeed?! That's like not even 'good backup.' Decent backup is just standard backup. It's like the worst of the backups before you get to the backups that are so bad they get you killed!"_

_"May just nodded her head in agreement."_

_"What?!" Hunter nearly falls off the chair he had appropriated as he tries to get his feet down off the desk, sit upright from where he was nonchalantly reclining, and scrambles overbalancing until he's leaning in close to the monitor as though by simply watching closely he'll see her repeat the action. "REally?" he smirks, gesturing proudly at the rest of them in the room as he proclaims, "Decent backup? _Decent_ backup. May said that. Not just okay backup but positively decent!" he nudges Mack in camerarderie and empashises slowly to his friend "Decent. Backup." Then grins. "Decent backup. May thinks I'm decent backup."_

_"We know, Hunter. We saw it."_

_"Decent backup," he repeats inordinately pleased with himself._

_Everyone else turns back to watch the monitors as Hunter continues mumbling to himself._

_"Maybe we should get it put on a sign."_

__

X

 

“As well as possibly the only other person on base that would have stopped you.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. Punch. “But Melinda, I had to,” he pleads. Not to save him the pain of a strike but begging her to understand his reasoning. If she’d been in his place she’d have done the same. He knows she would have. They always sacrifice the personal for the greater good. It’s what they do. It’s the job. No, more than that – it’s who they are.

“You HAD to risk your life or you had to get me off base to do so.”

“I think we both agree the latter but, yes – people were dying and I had the ability to stop the killer.”

“The ‘ability’?” she repeats professionally calm. He knows her well enough by now to know that she’s furious. Melinda doesn’t shout or rant or scream when she’s pissed. She gets quieter. Like the ocean, calm on the surface whilst an inescapable tide rages beneath, drags you to your death unnoticed until it’s too late.

He circles. He’s wary. Sensibly so. If only he’d found that sense earlier.

“I stopped him. No one else died. That should be enough.” The ends have often justified the means, even if historians disagree. He’d like to think they’re more pragmatic. He knows they’re probably just more willing to compromise after everything they’ve seen and done. More morally compromised. The thought doesn’t sit well with him.

The distraction she provides is welcome as she comes at him again, a swoop and slide of kicks fast and high, a manoeuvre back to her feet that probably has a stunningly impressive name to match the amazing feet but he’s forced to label as a crabby-flip-kick thing. The combo does as described as she flips back to her feet gracefully, catching his chin with a glancing blow from her left foot as he dodges at the last moment to avoid receiving a more drastic hit.

“You had an entire team of agents with the ‘ability’ to take him down.”

“I did alright,” he says forcing a smirk to his face as he tries to emulate the arrogance that should accompany such a statement. He fools neither of them.

“You ATTACKED your team,” she grounds out unamused. Fists to his head he dodges and blocks. One to his stomach he swipes to take on the side but he’s too slow for the follow up taking a quick strike to his right shoulder even as he turns back into it to lessen the effects of the blow. He grabs for her arm as he twists, dragging her off balance in front of him and holding her trapped in place, her back to his front, as he speaks directly into her ear . 

“I didn’t ATTACK them,” he scoffs. 

The elbow into his gut steals his breath before he can say more, doubling him over as she steps away. Her boots stop just out of reach in front of him, spread shoulder width apart and he lets his eyes trail up over strong thighs, tiny waist, up to folded arms and an entirely unimpressed expression. Oh yeah, he’s in trouble . 

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
__

_"About time she gave him shit for that! He lock me in that cell for aaaaages!"_

_"We let you out as soon as we saw," Mack tries to jutify._

_"I was waving my arms about for hours whilst you played video games!"_

_"How did you-" Fitz starts._

_"Call of Duty is NOT a game!" Mack and Hunter finish in time._

_"And you want to know the worst part of it?!" Daisy continues on a roll, "You wanna know? The worst part-"_

_"Was that you spent that hour feeling stupid because he tricked you?" Bobbi says with a sympathising smile to a surprised crowd. She shrugs, "been there and soo done that."_

_"Really? Do tell..." Hunter invites suddenly eager to hear the tale of whoever managed to get one over on Bobbi Mockingbird Morse, deception extraordinaire._

__

x

 

He breathes whilst she lets him. 

But he can’t put this off forever. He pushes his hands against his knees, straining himself back upright and stretching slightly to one side then the other to work out the kinks. Nah, he’s not delaying. Not much.

“I locked Skye in the holding cell.” He’s defensive. He knows even as he speaks that she’ll hear it in his voice.

“My trainee,” she confirms aloud as her eyes narrow threateningly at him. She’s always been protective. Usually, that’s a good thing. Currently, he’s not quite as impressed with the benefits, especially as he’s on the receiving end of her anger.

“You.” Step towards him.

“Attacked.” Another step and boy does he wish he could afford to take a step backwards to increase the distance. Or run away, he’d love to run away right now. 

“MY.” He could run and hide. That’d be fabulous. 

“TRAINEE!” She growls and a moment later, he’s sure she hesitates just to mess with his head, after that moment and the next she strikes. A knee to the groin that makes him wish he were female for the milliseconds he’s able to think before his mind blanks and knees buckle.

“Didn’t,” he squeaks. Breathe, he reminds himself forcibly.” I… “ *cough* “didn’t … attack her,” he gasps out, raising a hand asking her to let him finish as she goes to argue. “I… pushed her. PUSHED… Into a cell she was going to lock me up in!” he tries to justify.

“Locking you up was a good idea,” she smirks slightly at the thought.

He shrugs off her amusement, goes for honesty. “You trained her well.”

Her eyes narrow “Not well enough if you got the drop on her.”

“She trusted me,” he shrugs it off.

“Exactly.” 

 

X


	12. You died!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is May crying?" Hunter asks.
> 
> "Isn't that like the first sign of the apocalypse?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and soppy is the order of today - I needed something soppy to get me back into this little ficlet. Good news too tho - it worked! So the next chap shouldn't take anywhere near as long to get uploaded and... its HUGE... aaaand... it's entitled TAHITI! (Bet u can't guess what they'll be talking/fighting about!)
> 
> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl without whom this would probably not be readable!

Chapter 12 - You Died!

“You went after a known murderer and psychopath-“

“I think he was a high functioning sociopath actually,” he interrupts, slipping low under her attempted grasp and following through with a few well aimed attacks of his own. 

She escapes, of course, but when they lock forms, each trying for the better hold as they grab and slip, pin and counter in turn, each fairly evenly matched at close range, her eyes have flattened in annoyance as she snaps out “Semantics” then pushes him back away with an open palmed strike to his chest, the force sending her back a similar number of paces to compensate.

“Accuracy is important Agent May,” he banters the beginning of a lecture they both probably received once too often from their commanders. Okay, so it was probably a lecture for her benefit on each occasion, his reports had always taken into consideration every little detail whereas hers had contained the important facts – success or not, who died, who didn’t, what was recovered, what was lost, how much she wanted back in expenses.

Her eyes blink at him in silent admonition for the attempted levity before she continues, “You went after a murderer without backup.”

“Sociopath,” he corrects her shortly, “and it was fine.”

“You were hanging from the ceiling with a… sociopath cutting into you.” The pause before ‘sociopath’ grinds her soul a little but it makes him grin so she’s almost okay with the correction.

“I had a handle on it.”

“You got lucky that Agent Klein remembered some of his training.”

He smirks trying to lighten the tension, “I’m always lucky.”

“Not always,” she says forcing the words past the lump in her throat, choking her. She backs off, backs away from him. Swallows. Twice.

She forces herself to say it. She needs to get it out there, needs to speak the words aloud even though merely thinking them rends her heart in two. If it comes out as a broken whisper then that’s because it’s all she can manage.

“You died, Phil.” She pushes the word out again in case he didn’t hear; she barely heard herself. “Died.”

 

x

 

There’s nothing he can say to that, nothing that can make it better. No promises he can make not to try to protect in the future. Nothing.

Her eyes are tear-filled. Her pain …

He swallows and wants to look away but he won’t let himself. She deserves at least that much. It hurts his heart to watch as her face crumbles, her mask falling away as it so often used to when he was the only one around to see. In good times. Better times. He almost wishes for the mask back, to conceal from him some of the hurt, to hide even a little of the pain she suffered, the pain he caused her unknowingly, unintentionally. 

He never meant to hurt her.

Not now and not back then.

 

He’d walked into that room, armed with Bambino, their most powerful weapon, and fully intent upon fixing the problem. He’d never, not for one instant, imagined that his life would be the cost. It’s not that he considered himself invulnerable – that would be stupidity. It’s just that he doesn’t dwell. If there are risks then they are known, acknowledged even, but never are they permitted to cause concern, to instil doubt. Doubt is far too dangerous an enemy to take with you in combat. He knew the risks, they all do every time they step on a mission. Hell! Not even just on mission – isn’t there some parable here about being knocked down by a bus tomorrow. Everyone knows of the possibility, the small risk. If everyone focused on the risk to the exclusion of all else then they’d never venture near the damn road irrespective of what was on the other side.

So, he doesn’t focus on the risks.

He didn’t focus on the risks.

Even knowing the outcome... he’d probably still make the same decision again. 

 

No. That’s a stupid lie to make himself feel better. If he’d the benefit of hindsight he’d have kept Banner off the helicarrier, taken more agents and far more weapons with him to face Loki, taken Thor and his damn temperamental hammer in the room with him... hell! He’d have scadged the Tesseract well before it could have caused any of these problems if he could go back in time with the benefit of hindsight.

If he could do everything over again... if he could... then he’d wipe that devastation from her face. He’d move heaven and earth to change things for the better... for her.

If only he had the power to right his wrongs so easily.

 

But he doesn’t.

He can only make the best decisions he can with the information he has to hand at the time. When there are no good options then a bad one will have to suffice. He has sworn to put the world first, to make the hard calls. He can’t afford to do otherwise no matter how much his heart might want him to.

She should understand. No, he knows that she _does_ understand. She’s sworn the same oaths, she’s given the same loyalty to Shield, to the world and those in it. She’s sacrificed... he swallows hard even just at the thought of how much she’s sacrificed. She’s given everything to Shield. Everything and then some.

It’s a curse.

It’s why when she left, he tried so... damned... hard to let her go.

If she could make a life outside of Shield, if she could find even just a little bit of the happiness that continually seems to elude them in this life, if she could just... she deserves to be happy.

If he promised not to put himself at risk again...

No. No, he won’t lie to her about this. She’d see it for the lie it would be anyway. Be hurt twice over if he lied about it. There’s no promise he can make not to do something stupid that ends in his death in the future. No promise he WILL make.

Completely bereft of the ability to comfort her with words, with lies, he steals from her strength instead. He pushes her. To fight. To engage immediately with the physical because he sure as hell can’t do anything about the emotional right now!

Two rapid steps towards her and she’s immediately on guard, dropping back into a familiar stance as her eyes blink clear of the threatened tears. He pursues and she evades. He throws a fist with all the anger at his own inability to do anything this time around to make anything better for her, pouring his frustration at being unable to prioritise her when all he wants is to wipe that hurt from her eyes, to hold her and protect her from ever suffering any more harm at his hands.

She brushes the back of her hand across wet eyes, doesn’t see the incoming strike, and sniffles-hiccups lightly in a half sob.

... and he pulls it in his hesitation to hurt her further. 

She swallows, rubbing at her wet eyes once again, flicks her eyes up to meet his taking in his position and the echo of a sad smile graces the corners of her lips, mocking herself for the perceived weakness as much as him. “Easily manipulated,” she calls him on it quietly.

“Aren’t all men if a woman cries?” he counters equally tentative.

“I don’t cry,” she denies simply and the fire re-lights in her eyes when she looks back up, daring him to call her on the blatant untruth – he never would.

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_"Is May crying?" Hunter asks._

_"Isn't that like the first sign of the apocalypse?" he continues despite the two glares levelled his way - oh please he's fought inhumans who could actually shoot lasers out of their eyes, as if glares are gonna have any power to stop him. Okay so maybe not fought them as such, but he's dreamed about them and he aaaalways wins in the end - see the trick is to find a shield that you can use as a mirror and just walk backwards everywhere until you chop her head off so that the snakes die... oh wait, maybe he just read that somewhere._

_"Should we get to a safe place or something?" he pushes them deliberately, trying to provoke a response more in keeping with the idea behind this little impromptu real life television programme._

_"Well... safer than a super- secret underground nuke proof base anyway? Is there anywhere safer? Just out of interest..." he continues because well, despite the glaring, Bobbi's eyes are looking a little watery themselves and if he can take that look from her face by being the insensitive class clown then he will take that fall._

_"Do you think hiding under the desks might help?"_

_"Or maybe we should all just pretend like we didn't see those tears of great doom fall from the usually stone cold eyes-"_

_"She's not-" "Not cold-" "She's not stone-" " _Hun_ ter-" There you have it - successfully provoking a response 101. Nah, not 101. He's teaching masterclasses here people. He grins only internally at the four quickly leaping to May's defence, okay five cos the crease between Bobbi's eyebrows that usually means he's done something cutely puzzling has deepened to the you're not getting any frown and well that's just not fair._

_"I'm just saying... if it is a capital offence to watch The-"_

_"Don't call her-"_

_"The great Melinda May shed a tear or two at the thought of her partner dying... then maybe we should all just take a moment to appreciate-"_

_"Our partners," Daisy interrupts with a smile that Mack shares, their eyes connecting and drawing out the moment._

_"Our friends," Mack's deep voice confirms, his eyes flicking on to include Fitz who grins back widely._

_"Even those who aren't here just now," Fitz reiterates the sentiment, smiling across at Bobbi whose eyes are still looking suspiciously peaky._

_"Especially those who aren't here right now," Bobbi confirms and the four continue smiling contentedly at one another. Mission accomplished, Hunter pats himself metaphorically on the back before interrupting the frankly suffocating soppiness before it spreads and they expect him to play care bears, sing cumbayah and give the world a hug. "I was going to say 'take a moment to appreciate the spectacularly rare sight before our eyes burn out of their sockets' but you lot had to go and ruin it. Soppy gits ."_

x

 

She cries. She lies.

He nods.

Yeah, they've agreed to try to stop lying to each other but he owes her this one. At least this one.  
He changes the subject for her with a groan as he twists his back trying to loosen up muscles that haven't been used to such abuse in a long while. "I don't remember ever feeling so bruised..." he starts leadingly, knowing exactly where this conversation will lead even as he gives her the opening. 

Happier times. Simpler times.

She gives him the smile he's expecting, a fleeting thing all the more special for its rarity.

"Sure you do," she plays along, wiping briskly at already dry eyes, mask moving firmly back in place, hiding her pain, shoving her feelings to one side as she so often does.

He raises an enquiring eyebrow in question, playing along the same old lines, as though they both haven't played through this conversation a million times before... then he moves to circle the mats again, leading her to mirror his movements, gently easing them both back into the familiar, the physical of sparring as much as the verbal reminiscing as friends might once have done.

"Vegas..." she pretends to remind him, fully in the knowledge that he's already laid out the path of this conversation for them both. She steps so lightly around the mats that there's barely a swish or crinkle of the plasticised covering to lend sound to her movements. He has the sudden inexplicable urge to want to cut the lights, to blind himself and see... not that he thinks he'd stand a chance at fighting her in the sightless darkness but just to see if he could find her. A challenge.To himself. To see if without sight or sound or anything he could call a normal sense he could still find her.

He's certain that some part of him would lead him to her. Some part always does.

"The 'gang' of bikers that you 'infiltrated'..." her mocking voice leaches into his thoughts, drawing him back to the present just as she reverses direction with a quick two step that has him jumping to pay more attention to the sparring than wherever his wandering thoughts might be trying to lead him. That she raises both hands in the air in front of her to do the speech marks shouldn't entertain him quite as much as it does, but it still does. He lets the guffaw escape him irrespective of how he sounds like a demented bull. He'll let her think it's at the memory she elicited. To be fair, it was a fun memory too. It's why he chose it.

"They were good times," he smiles hoping to draw another smile from her.

He elicits an attack, one he's not entirely sure his words deserved. He'll take the slightly slower approach as an indication that she's only putting in half the effort to actually land a blow this time around. It's far less painful to block the strikes as they come, to move and spin, duck and even slip in the rare counter. She catches him with a foot to his thigh before she speaks again, "As I recall you limped and whined for days."

"I was thrown from a motorcycle-"

"Whined," she interrupts with a strike that makes him break off speaking to dodge sideways.

"I was going over 90 miles an hour-"

"for days," she continues the mockery, a slight glimmer of fun lurking at the edges of her eyes, that makes him grin in response even as he strikes back in the expected attempt to quiet her mocking.

"I broke four ribs!"

"Cracked," she correct him, spins away even as he aims for her own ribs in mock retaliation. "Three," she spits out on a breath as he closes, two strikes blocked in turn, her foot up against his chest forcing him back away, "ribs and you rode it into a tree, Phil!"

"I had an unexpectedly sudden arboreal encounter," he corrects her with the wording they'd eventually agreed to use in their official reports to cover the incident knowing full well that Jessops wouldn't have a clue what either of them meant but was arrogant enough to cover his lack of knowledge by never asking about it. Of course when it had later come to Fury's attention as he made it higher up the rankings and the stories of his folly had become almost legendary...

"And you whined like a child," she concludes.

"As I recall you weren't very sympathetic then either."

"Phil, you rode your bike into a tree!" she repeats as though he's gone deaf.

"And I'm just saying that as my partner you should really have been much more sympathetic rather than mocking me the whole time. I was injured you know."

"I didn't mock you the whole time..." she says leadingly

"Just the time that we were both awake?" he finishes the thought for her and can't tell you how good it feels to finally feel like they might actually get back to that same wave length they used to inhabit.

"I let you ride pillion," she justifies as they exchange another bout of strikes and counters at this easy pace. 

"Yes, because the sight of me lumbering onto a bike behind a tiny little girl and then clinging on until my fingers hurt as you diced with death with just about every state patrol car you could find to wind up made the jeering so much less from the rest of them."

"Actually, I think it was your girlish screaming that really had them teasing you afterwards."

"And as I explained patiently to them then," he almost daren't finish the thought when her eyebrows narrow in just that way that makes him feel about four years old caught with his crayons in the moment before writing on the newly papered walls because really mother if you didn't want him to draw on them then why did you buy the expensive paper with so many interesting swirls and patterns to colour around?

"Oh?" she pushes him to answer in the way that they both know that he has to answer - the way he's answered this story for years of their friendship.

"I told them it was you!" he shrugs carelessly, but ducks down milliseconds later as the expected fist heads for his face, or more accurately for his nose. Again.

 

x

 

"Those were good times," he says eventually, breaking away from the sparring to regain his breath, planting his back against one of the concrete pillars, enjoying its cool solidity against his back. "Better times," he reiterates as he allows himself to slide down the pillar to sit for just a moment.  
There's a pause as she steps back considering.

Then she sighs, stomping over to him like his calling for a short break is an insult to her, before she also lowers herself to sit, far more gracefully than he, positioning herself around the side with her back against the pillar out of his direct line of sight but her shoulder brushing against his arm. "Not better," she corrected him, "Simpler."

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_"If this means the fighting's over and they're just gonna talk," he spits the word 'talk' out of his mouth and rolls his tongue about his mouth like it's left a foul aftertaste he can't quite clear._

_"Then you're leaving?" Daisy mocks him falsely hopeful. "Goodbye and we'll miss you and all those other nice platitudes that might make you leave that much sooner."_

_"She shoots, she scores," Mack confirms gaily as they exchange a quick fist bump at Hunter's expense._

_"You're turning mean in your swiftly advancing years," he points at Daisy before swivelling in his chair to point accusingly at Mack, "You're supposed to be my friend." Mack shrugs with a smile that says he's not apologising and probably that he deserves that and more given the things they've been through together before this._

_"I'm your friend and I'd miss you," Fitz proclaims quickly trying to be supportive._

_"And you're turning into some kind of wuss, mate. We need to sort that out pronto."_

_"Hey."_

_"Now who's turning mean in their 'swiftly advancing years'?" Daisy parrots back at him._

__  
x

 

"I think I preferred the simpler times," he says honestly enough, bumping her shoulder purposefully trying to start a bit of push and shove fun.

She doesn't join him, just shuffles a little away until they're no longer touching. No longer together in this easy jaunt down memory lane. "We don't get that choice," she says eventually, but it takes her far too long to come up with so short an answer and he knows she's thinking back far too hard to the bad times before.

"I preferred the way we used to resolve our problems," he replies matching her quiet tone, trying to bring her thoughts back to the good memories, to the good times they had together.

"You enjoyed getting pranked when you were being an ass?" he hears, pleased that he's dragged her back to him.

"No," he jumps in hurriedly before she can go much further with no doubt what is already forming into several plans as to how best prank him in this new 'Homebase' whilst avoiding all possible evidence leading back to her involvement, laying several false trails, implicating others and driving him to distraction whilst never actually crossing the line from fun to dangerous... well not intentionally anyway. "The goats were good company though..." he trails off. He delights in the delicate snort of a muffled laugh that reaches his ears before he corrects their course. "I actually meant the drinking-"

"Copiously," she interrupts, her shoulder jolting against his capriciously.

"and talking," he continues as though nothing major has happened.

"far too much damned talking," she rejoins.

"actually to one another, imagine that," he mocks them both. "When did we stop doing that?" he feigns to muse on the subject knowing that she can't help but answer.

"Getting drunk or talking?" she plays for time.

She stands up before he can answer, reaching down to grab his arm and haul him back to his feet as he hurries to cooperate rather than have her strain - because she would despite their respective differences in weight if she wanted him standing.

She shakes out her limbs quickly, snapping them back to life and he rushes to wake his body likewise, knowing that this is not a conversation she wants to have. 

But it's one he needs them to have . 

It's been playing on endless repeat, tumbling into the foreground whenever his mind wanders, pinching his heart painfully tight. One word and her complicity in that scheme, the plot to conceal the truth from him, friends driving him slowly insane to purportedly save his sanity. They can't move past anything if he can't move past this one thing...

 

TAHITI.

 

x

__  
x


	13. T.A.H.I.T.I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They both know that this conversation is inevitable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaay so yeah little warning I guess for this one....
> 
> ...this shit gets real angsty!
> 
>  
> 
> Muchos loving to my beta (and often inspiration!) Devilgrrl cos she is a wonder!

Chapter 13 - TAHITI

 

She pushes him. Always has. 

Pushes him to be better. To move faster. Fight harder.

He'd be resentful if she didn't push herself just as much. Maybe more so.

This time she pushes hard deliberately. She doesn't want either of them with air to spare. She doesn't want to talk, not about this, and she certainly doesn't want to give him the opening to drag her into the conversation until she's ready.

He lets her enjoy the fallacy. They both know that this conversation is inevitable. 

It's been inevitable since the beginning.

 

She pushes him to move breathlessly, to duck and dive across sweat slicked mats, to block as shudders tremble down his arms from the force of her strikes, every effort expended in meeting her where she pushes them both. His body moves more instinctively now, patterns long forgotten but ingrained in muscle memory, flowing where her body leads him in the dance of war. He's no time to consider and remark upon her beauty, so strong and fierce, as they exchange strikes and counters faster than he can raise a conscious thought. 

Instinctive. She always pushes to bring out the best in him.

Passionate. He loves that about her.

Deadly.

 

Beautiful.

 

X

 

His eyes keep giving her that funny look. The one that says he sees her more deeply than anyone else ever has. The one that says he- FUCK! And, yes she needs to stop looking at those damn eyes of his as they drag her thoughts down into the depths to drown and her fighting only suffers from the distraction 

She counters the follow ups, just about, but throws in an inch of flair to disguise just how much she’s struggled to catch them in time. He’s not playing games anymore; he’s fighting properly, skilfully, as they always used to spar in days gone by. He’s breathing hard, a fresh sheen of sweat across his brow that tells testament to just how hard he’s been working. How hard she’s made him work.

He looks tired, comes the flash of the thought across her mind as she drops back to give him some room to recover his breath. That he’s on her immediately, chasing her across the practise mats, rather than taking the offered break is a surprise. A surprise that she meets just as swiftly.

She can’t help the nagging thought that she should back this down, let him rest. He’s not a field agent anymore, he doesn’t train for this kind of prolonged exertion – hell, she doesn’t even train for this kind of prolonged battle! But more than that... 

He looks tired.

It’s not some foolish notion of the heart that makes her want to stop, to make him rest, she assures herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. It’s the duty of a good second to ensure that the Director is fit and well, capable of rising to whatever unexpected emergency might arise and, if not, then to damn well deal with it herself. The two of them fighting until they’re both exhausted physically... maybe even emotionally... is not exactly a good plan... Maybe she should have stopped this earlier. As it stands, neither of them is going to be much good to SHIELD if they are needed . 

There’re other capable agents on base.

But... well...

...He looks tired.

 

Even as she pushes him back with strikes designed to make him stretch, to force him to fight to the very limits of his abilities, she knows that neither of them can really last at this tempo. Her arms ache just holding them up, her legs protest with every forceful step, her mind is lagging in responding to the minutia of his body’s movements, and she’s lost count of the times she’s swept her sweat drenched hair further up her head in a futile attempt to keep it from obscuring her vision. If she’s tired, then he’s worse. She knows that as much as she knows she can't push him much longer. He's not used to the sustained physical exertion and she's exhausted from... _everything._ She _shouldn't_ push him longer simply to put off the conversation she is desperate not to have. Has never wanted to relive. She pushes on anyway. Pushes them both.

It doesn’t take long before they're both slowing. Both failing.

Not necessarily intentionally but more blows are failing to be blocked. They're landing with less power. The strikes are becoming more cautionary from both of them. She's side-lined the acrobatic displays and high kicks in preference for more economical moves. His punches are fewer, selective, restrained.

“Tired Melinda?” he mocks her when she stumbles out of a kick but she's too weary for the weak criticism to prompt any retort.

It’s him who trips anyway as he avoids a mean counterblow and she is immediately close upon him to press the advantage with an uppercut to the gut. 

That it’s a feint she realises too late as he straightens, sidesteps the punch and spins around her bringing two clenched fists down on the space between her shoulder blades. Now she is the one stumbling forward off balance - she wishes it were a trick – and she lands heavily on her knees, glad for the slight cushioning the training mat provides. A foot lands solidly to her side, stealing her breath, and she coughs falling forward to the mat. She works through the fog of pain just in time to force her body to roll away from the next kick, aimed at her undefended ribs. She stands up at once, scrambling for distance, gasping heavily and holding her side. That’ll bruise, she thinks derisively, knowing from the pain that her ribs are probably pretty bad. She breathes deeply once through the aching pain, just enough to confirm that they're not broken, not affecting her breathing, simply painful. She can work through painful.

He looks across at her considering. His eyes reflecting primarily concern – it’s the worst blow that’s landed so far - but she's not coward enough to let herself take the easy road out through a trip to medical. He deserves the rest of this conversation. She drops her hand from her side, rolls her shoulders slowly before raising her arms back into a more productive fighting stance, tensing muscles consciously assessing how far her reach can extend before the pain becomes a liability unnoticed by him, raises her eyes to his in question. In blatant challenge.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he sees, he dives back into the fight. He’s back to the uncoordinated desperation seeming fighting style, throwing blows left and right with little care for finesse. As though in his exhaustion he's throwing everything at her at once, a last ditch effort to drag her down... There’s little time for her to think about that though as she’s too busy defending, forced to block blows that she would otherwise have twisted away from due to the need to protect her ribs. There's no way to conceal that from him. He focuses his strikes to that side, knowing that she’ll be forced to defend, but when she deliberately telegraphs a likely failure to block a short kick to that side, he pulls himself off balance to redirect the kick away.

That he doesn’t want to hurt her is a fact upon which she relies as she springs forwards, knocking them both off balance to the ground and seating herself above his stomach to try for the pin. For the win. Make him cry uncle, force him to concede. To give up. 

To let her escape.

His hands fly up at her face and she rears backwards immediately, forearm swinging to block the more dangerous threat of his replacement as it goes for her throat. The other twists in her loosed hair, a short sharp scream escaping her from the shock as he drags her head backwards, hauling her bodily off to the side even as she finds and twists his thumb, fingers digging in to pressure points in his hand, wrenching it from her hair with an oath before rolling away to find her feet at a safe distance.

“Hair pulling?!” she accuses loudly once she’s safely away, “what is this, kindergarten!?”

“You use what you got,” he replies with a shrug and a smile.

“Don’t,” she snaps but she's aware that exhaustion has drained her tone of any bite she might have intended the words to carry, “I’m too tired to carry you down to medical if you make me knock you out."

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...

_"Did you see that?"_

_"Oooh hair pulling! Damn!"_

_"That's just...so..."_

_"Girlie ." "Hot ."_

_"What?!" "WHAT?!"_

_Looks to Bobbi for confirmation._

_"THAT is not hot!"_

_Hunter frowns at her, "But you like it when I-"_

_"Besides the point!" she interrupts quickly, "and no, Hunter, THAT I would definitely not like and then YOU would definitely not like what came afterwards."_

_"I've no problem with coming afterwar-"_

_"Hunter!"_

_"Darling?"_

_They exchange glares for a moment. Okay, Bobbi glares at him for a while as he smirks back at her completely uncowed._

_"Hair pulling like that," Bobbi wafts at the screen attempting a redirect before she HAS to take Hunter outside, "should be reserved for enemies, masochists, and six year old girls."_

_"Bet that's the first time those three things have been linked together in a sentence before," Hunter jumps in for the win. "Although... I've gotta ask... what would you do if you came across a six year old masochistic hydra girl... with a shaved head?"_

_All glare at Hunter._

_"Seriously though..." he waits for the two beats necessary for them all to think he might actually have something constructive to add before continuing, "if she had NO HAIR?"_

_Several pairs of rolling eyes turn back to face the main screen._

_Fitz' quiet voice whispers across to Mack after a few moments "Just shoot her right?"_

_There's a muffled snort, a few coughs, and Mack very seriously replies "Yeah, Fitz. You can just shoot her."_

_"Yeah that's what I thought. Just wanted to che-Yowza!"_

_"Yowza? Seriously? Is that even a word?"_

_"Sure, they use it in comic books all the time. It's like kapow or gawoosh. It’s onomatopoetically correct even if it's not quite made the Oxford English dictionary..."_

_"...Fitz..."_

_"Yeah but you gotta give the boy credit for using the words gawoosh and onomatopoetically in the same argument right?" Mack is straight in to back his friend up. It may also help that he likes comics..._

_"Ouch! Did you see that?! She just-"_

_"What I don't understand is why she doesn't just end it. I mean we all know she could. She's had him near the ropes so many times. She could have kicked his ass and sent him crying back to mommy by now easy," Daisy continues, very well versed in taking a beat down from Melinda May. She can count on one hand the times she actually managed to come out on top... look “one” is still a number that can be counted on one hand! And so what if she did use her powers? It’s not like that’s cheating. They use whatever is to hand in combat. May’s always telling her to be aware of her environment. To find weapons, make ordinary objects work for her. She just happened to find this advantage a little closer to home. It wasn’t- okay, so she cheated. So sue her._

_"Leaving to one side the image of a grown Coulson running crying to his mother-" Hunter drawls because really when does he ever stay quiet for very long._

_"Fun image though right? Especially with a mini Melinda May chasing after him waving about a big stick?"_

_"-you really got to ask that? Really? This is going to end in sweet, sweet love ."_

_"It's going to end in tears."_

_"It's going to end in stitches."_

_"Someone's leaving with a cast."_

_"Phil"_

_"Phil"_

_“Yep”_

_"Definitely Phil."_

__

x

 

She’s noticeably pissed when he brings her down to the mats for a second time, hitting hard in a tangle of limbs as she tries to get the upper hand and he tries desperately for the pin. She’ll talk if he makes her; if he can trap her, then he can have his answers.

She’s too well trained to go down easily and too damned stubborn to just let him win!

“Talk to me Melinda,” he tries even knowing that simply asking isn’t going to get him the answers alone. Not these answers. These answers she’s kept too close, they hide wounds barely healed… wounds that still hurt the both of them. Wounds he’s asking her to rip open again.

He’s almost succeeded when she surprises him – the fact that she’s spoken almost as much of a surprise as the words she spits out at him. She wants an end to this too – to the fight, to the deception, all the hurt.

“We stopped talking when you died.” She leaves out the insults that accompany that tone but he hears them anyway. The flash of pain chasing across her face before being covered by anger is enough to make him weaken his position, forgetting for a moment only the identity of his... opponent. A moment is enough for her to throw him and scramble away to a safer distance. None of her usual grace and flair – she’s tiring.

She’s says nothing of stopping drinking. He knows her usual response to emotional pain – she won’t have stopped drinking when he died. She’ll have drunk... everything. Anything. She’ll have simply drunk herself into comparatively blissful blackness in an unsuccessful attempt to drown out her thoughts and feelings to avoid the pain she wouldn’t have wanted to address.

“I came back,” he tries the half-hearted justification.

“I stopped drinking when you came back,” is all she’s willing to say to that. She hadn’t. It’s another lie. An easier one. Certainly easier than the truth! She hadn’t stopped drinking when he came back; she’d doubled her attempts to find peace at the bottom of a bottle. The idea that they’d brought him back... her mind couldn’t wrap itself around that. And her heart couldn’t take even the inkling of a hope that it might have been true .

 

He doesn't show any intention of getting back up to his feet as he continues lying flopped face up on the ground. When he eventually opens his eyes to look over at her he's forced to squint from his position under the gym lights, one arm raised to try to block the glare. She steps in closer, well within range of an attack, to block the spotlights for him knowing he's no intention of doing anything other than lying there for at least the next few minutes. He's an exhausted sweating mess of a man, chest heaving as he tries to regain the oxygen his body has over expended in pushing himself so much to try to give her the fight she needs.

It's only fair she gives him what he needs in return.

An explanation she's never been able to give him before. She starts at the beginning – the beginning of the lies, the beginning of her betrayal, the beginning of the bad decisions that led them down this path... but it’s hard to find the words. Hard to start the explanation without another lie... From the moment he’d swaggered into her safe little admin cubicle joking and mocking her like he’d never been gone... the morning she’d dressed in field agent clothes... the first step she’d taken aboard his plane...

"The bus," she starts. His answer. Or at least the beginning of one.

"Hmmm?" he's only paying half attention, or only pretending to pay half attention to her words anyway. Is that to make it easier for her? Probably. His eyes drift closed as though he's too tired to strain against even the slight light that her shadow doesn't protect against but she knows that that too is for her benefit, an attempt to make her more comfortable speaking. He knows people too well. Knows her too well .

She allows the smile to grace her lips safely unseen as she folds her legs beneath her to sit cross legged beside his chest. "When we stopped the drinking and the talking," she expands her initial answer as he intends. Damn manipulative bastard, she curses ruefully.

"You were always on the stick," his drawling voice confirms, gently prompting her to keep speaking.

"I couldn't risk lowered inhibitions," she starts the explanation.

"I'd just assumed you were pissed at me when you hid in your cockpit."

She didn't hide thank you very much, it was a tactical retreat. And he gave her plenty of reasons to be pissed at him those first few weeks anyway! She voices the latter thought but it only makes him smile at the memories. She really should have chewed him out over a few of those first incidents... or at least super glued his pens. Teach him a lesson about maturity that would. "But no. I was avoiding drinking with you."

"We had a drink." Yeah, one. Sometimes a double. Never anything more. Never 'drinking' by their usual standards. His eyes widening with realisation and meeting her own tell her that he's thinking the same: a drink - nothing that would compromise her ability to keep things from him. Things he could not know. Not back then. "And the talking...?"

The snort escapes her before she can suppress it. "The talking stopped when I realised that I was telling you more lies than truth," she admits it. That's the whole idea behind this stupid plan right? 

Admitting their sins to the other. Punishment. Absolution just maybe...

He interrupts her thoughts with his forearm to her stomach, the wholly unprovoked attack driving the breath up out of her lungs as he rolls, tumbling her over backwards, and crashing the pair of them back onto the mats her legs too tangled in themselves to be of any use in time to prevent him getting the hold atop her.

She must give something away when she breathes in against his weight and a flash of pain robs her of the retort she's trying to find because his brows narrow in concern a millisecond before he shifts his palms to beside her on the mats, pushing up to take his weight off her chest.

Freeing her arms.

And tying his own in place, unable to protect him from her retaliation unless he's willing to drop back down atop her... hurting her. She's not willing to bet that he's willing to do that. She knows he won't hurt her if he can avoid it. Even after all of this. After everything. She trusts him that much at least.

She smiles despite the situation and that alone should warn him but he only smiles back down at her - inordinately pleased with himself .

Foolish man.

Her hands reach up for the sides of his face, thumbs unerringly thrust forward with deadly accuracy and he’s forced to throw himself backwards into a panicked and uncontrolled roll to avoid them. She has time to get to her feet whilst he sulks, lying flat out on his back once again in wordless childish refusal to get up and fight.

“Going for my eyes?” he asks in a carefully moderated tone.

“You don’t exactly have enough hair for me to drag you off by it,” she counters, still a little peeved that he'll have pulled out more than a few strands with that little trick. Her scalp still smarts too. 

Also, he left himself wiiiiiide open for that move. She'd be doing them both a disservice just letting it slide.

 

x

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
_  
"Take note here Fitz - gouging eyes out, definitely not sexy!"_

_"Thaaaaaaaaanks Hunter," said with so many layers of sarcasm that it should win an award.  
_

x

 

When he makes no real attempt to get back up, she ends up hovering at a safer distance but the silence between them drags at her. She should feel better after all of this shouldn’t she? This should have cleared the air. Should have let them get back on track, back to normal – whatever normal is. Should have- No. Shoulda woulda coulda. She doesn’t allow herself those thoughts. She’ll see this through even if it tears her apart to explain. “It was supposed to make it easier... distancing myself from you.”

“You had to be ready to take me out,” he agrees softly, voice filled with empathy and understanding .

She almost scoffs out loud – he understands nothing. Be ready?! She’d been _ready_ since the day Fury had told her. A necessity – or so she’d thought at the time. A punishment even for the monster she had become - was it not enough for her best friend to die, did she have to kill him too?! 

She didn’t need to be sober to take him out. Quite the opposite would be desired. She’d need to be drunk enough to do it, drunk enough that she could pretend her target didn’t wear the congenial face of her friend, drunk enough to pull the trigger hard. Drunk enough to forget. Drunk enough to live with herself afterwards... if she could.

“Okay, so from your face that’s quite clearly not the reason,” he groans as he attempts to lever himself into sitting though she’s almost certain that it’s just for show, just another simple way to manoeuvre her into underestimating him. She knows him better than that, she sees through him sometimes. It’s just unfortunate that he can see through her defences almost all of the time. It’s not a fair fight.

Then she does let the snort escape her – not a fair fight indeed! She’s countless accreditations in the martial arts, she’s taught advanced hand to hand classes throughout Shield for years and commendations for close work litter her files – she knows, she’s hacked them before. Yet here she is moaning that it’s not a fair fight to put her up against Phil Coulson, master of manipulation and bad jokes aside, he’s nowhere near her level of combat training or experience. But here she is feeling weapon less before him because the man sees too damn much. There are people, oh so many people that see her blank face and have no idea what she’s thinking. That don’t particularly care either way. Then there’s him.

She gestures a hand at him carelessly. “That’s why,” she says and she’s no particular intention of elaborating as she shifts impatient to move further away, some sort of primal reflex to retreat from a potential threat even as she _knows_ intellectually that he’s not that kind of threat.

But even at a distance she can feel his eyes upon her back, studying what she’s not saying, seeing too damned much, the weight of his gaze boring into her mind-

“You know me too well!” the words spurt out of her mouth like she’s never had ANY training at all! How his silence can force the truth from her when hours of interrogation can’t... “It’s too hard to keep things from you” – not just emotionally – “you’re an expert at reading people” – especially her – “I had to be at my very best” – or worst – “I had to pay attention _every_ moment. Had to concentrate” – keep the blank mask in place, don’t smile, don’t laugh... don’t cry, stay closed off even from him, especially from him! – “I had to be certain that I let nothing slip. Nothing that might encourage you to... dig further. Nothing that might cause you to... question me. To doubt me.”

“You did it well,” he says simply. His voice carefully blanked, she struggles to get a read on him. She can only go on what she knows, what she feels, what she would feel in his position. He’s pissed. No, worse. Hurt. “Until Hydra, I never even suspected.” Until Hydra, they’d all been comfortably blasé. Until Hydra, they’d believed they could trust those they called friends. Until Hydra- no. Hydra is not at fault here. This is her doing. Hydra had nothing to do with her decision to betray a friend.

She turns to look him in the eye, slightly concerned that he still hasn’t made it up to his feet – is he even going to try to get back up? She can’t do this alone. She can’t do this without him. She needs – “now get back up and hit me,” she orders . 

 

x

 

She drops her guard as she walks towards him and he quickly forces himself up to his feet. She stops straight two paces away, steps at ease, hands clasped firmly behind her back. Open position. Closed expression. She’d never-

“Hit me for Tahiti,” she instructs again, her eyes focussed somewhere over his shoulder. Not here. Not present. He’s confused by her sudden switch – from friends half joking to not even enemies. The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference. He’s never understood that saying so well as right in this moment. That she doesn’t even care enough-

No. No, that’s not the Melinda he knows. She cares. She cares so deeply sometimes that it frightens her. He steps forwards, closes the distance between them physically even if he can’t reach across to grab hold of her emotionally. That she flinches away when he moves hurts him more than anything they’ve done to one another. 

More than _anything._

“I’ve already forgiven you for that, Melinda,” he tells her earnestly. He needs her to believe it. He needs her to stop blaming herself, to stop castigating herself for every little thing beyond her control, to stop replaying them on an endless cycle of blame and guilt and unworthiness. She doesn’t even blink in acknowledgement of his words.

He swallows past the lump in his throat as he tries again. “I understand why you did it. I do. I get why you had to lie to me.” Her disbelieving scoff is enough to drive him onwards. 

He _has_ forgiven her! 

He has! 

“I saw the doctors’ reports, remember? I read through all of the Tahiti project analysis, read my own words back to myself. The only marked success for the project was when the subject didn’t know of the treatment.” 

Project. Subject. Treatment. 

All nice clean clinical words to describe the immoral attempt to interfere in the natural order of things, the hell he suffered through because one man wanted to play god and resurrect a human not worthy of a second time around. He forcibly casts aside the bitter taste in his mouth. This isn’t about him and Fury. This is about Melinda. “You had to lie to me, Melinda. You _had_ to.” Maybe if he says it enough times he can convince her.

Maybe if he says it enough times he can convince himself?

Her scoff of disbelief is no real warning for the devil’s eyes that she turns on him - all of her rage and hurt directed at him in an instant from those usually warm eyes. She doesn’t move but her whole body takes on a new life, tensing, drawing herself up higher, stronger, adamant – she could have turned to crystal for all of the humanity he can feel left inside this seemingly armoured shell she’s drawn about her. “You forgive me?” what should be a penitent question is a snarl of attack, a mockery of his words that she fires back at him without remorse.

He steps back hastily.

She follows. Stalking slow. A predator on the prowl.

The terrible mimicry of a smile that stretches her lips wide doesn’t match her face. A grimace. A threat.

“You bastard!” she snarls.

“Hey-!” he steps backwards, he doesn’t mean to but... well you try standing there whilst a five foot tall ball of furious woman comes at you!

“You son of a bitch!” she’s shouting by the last syllable – a loss of control she would never normally allow herself.

He tries for the joke: “Let's leave my parents out of-” but it more than falls flat as he trips backwards over the edge of the matting and takes a few swift steps to remain on his feet.

“You god damned manipulating... YOU !” 

That he’s now retreating steadily away from her in a cautious circle around the room is not lost upon him. Neither is the fact that she’s steadily increasing speed, that at some point soon she’s going to launch at him.

“Melinda, I-” and when she does pounce, he is going to end up hurt. He’s not seen her like this in years. Decades. Not since they were young and untrained, naive of the world and its many dangers, innocent to loss and pain, before they had to make the hard calls, before they got them wrong. Not since a time long past when they could afford to be free, to feel, to express emotions, to make calls based upon how they felt at any given time, to interact just a little closer to normal human beings. Not since she was an angry young girl with a chip on her shoulder brawling with anyone that so much as sneered down at her. Not since he was still just watching, just the observer, learning the trade, studying... everything. She’s not shown this much anger, this much hatred, this much passion for life in what feels like forever. He’d almost be glad of it... if he weren’t both the cause and the target.

“You wanted to do this!” she snaps, halting her forward momentum with a sudden braking that makes him briefly consider the possibility of whiplash injuries and whether Shield will pay out before the furious visage before him again takes priority.

“You wanted to get it all out in the open!” she snarls but he can hear the crack below her voice that belies her hurt. She’s not furious. She’s in pain, she’s upset, and being Melinda she has no possible way of dealing with that other than to lash out back at him. 

“Mel-,” his feet step back towards her fully cognisant of the threat but he needs to comfort her even knowing she won’t let him, maybe just be closer, to show he’s not running away.

“You made me be honest about... _everything!_ ” she accuses him harshly but her eyes have so little to add other than confirmation of her pain. It’s as though he can physically feel the anguish pouring off her in waves and it breaks his heart that he’s forced her to this.

“And when it comes to your turn, you've suddenly got _nothing_ to say!”

“I didn't say nothing, I said-“

“That you'd forgiven me?! That you _understand _!?!” the way she can roll the word around her mouth, coat it totally in her disgust and fire it back at him should be impressive. It’s not. It’s heart rending.__

__“Melinda-”_ _

__“You.... you....” that’s when she loses it. He sees it in her eyes before it flashes across her face. Before her body freezes minutely, her muscles tensed instinctively as the decision is made. “You LIAR!”_ _

__“Yes, but about what exactly,” his mouth forms the words, his ears even hear him say it. He blames the smart aleck kid that used to play the class clown to feel liked. There’s a part of that kid still inside him. It’s that stupid kid that rears up in situations just like these. Just when he wishes that it wouldn’t. He should know not to push back. Not to say stupid things without thinking. How can he seem to manage that around everyone but her?_ _

__“I’m not lying, Melinda,” he tries to jump in quick, to correct the mistake of a too loose tongue before she cuts it off for him. “I get why you did it. I might even have made the same decision myself in your position .”_ _

__“MIGHT?!” her voice growls as though she is as much the predator as his body seems to believe - a shudder coursing down his spine even as the hairs across his body rise to attention and then words seem to fail her again entirely as she simply roars at him as she flies on the attack._ _

__“Would!” he corrects as he’s propelled backwards by a much smaller, angrier force that he doesn’t particularly want to defend against. “I _would_ “ no, no, he agreed with himself not to lie to her again. Not today. “....probably... do the same. But I do forgive you for your part in that.” His back rams hard into the pillar that she forces him in to. He’s glad that those things are at least slightly padded right now. “I do understand,” he says forcefully, trying with all of his heart to make her understand that he knows, that he does forgive her... because he does. He knows why she did it. He might even have made the same mistake himself if he were in her position. He doesn’t want her to live with the guilt of that any longer. He understands... even if it hurt him. At the time. Even if it still hurts him a little. When he thinks back. Even if sometimes he does wonder ... no matter how much he tries to convince himself... whether he has really forgiven her for it._ _

__

__x_ _

__

__He hasn’t forgiven her._ _

__That much is obvious, even to her limited ability to read the man behind the mask. If he’d forgiven her then they wouldn’t be here right now. If he’d trusted her, then he’d have made different decisions. She set them on this course. She’s damn well sure going to try to correct it. They both need this._ _

__She starts simply. Insultingly._ _

__Her palm strikes his face like lightning - a slap to his lying mouth that widens his eyes in shock as much as hurt ._ _

__An attempt to force him to react without actually landing a blow that would deal him any more hurt than her actions have already caused._ _

__The second one she telegraphs well in advance and allows that he captures her wrist to prevent repeat blows. That she’s elicited a response is good. That he releases her wrist a moment later, after a too closely searching look over her face, is not good._ _

__His eyes bore in to her, sorrowful, hurt - emotionally more than physically though his cheek still bears the shadow of an imprint of her hand. These marks they'll leave will fade. She reminds herself of it mentally. None of the damage inflicted today is unsurvivable. They'll hurt and then they'll heal. These wounds will not fester like the unseen tears they've inflicted before now._ _

__When he simply lets her hit him again without protest she swallows back the bile that rises with the knowledge that she’s going to have to hurt him to get this through to him. Or to walk away now._ _

__Conflicted, she’s half turned to leave before her mind reverts. _They’ve always hurt each other._ His words reverberate in her skull, echoing across conscious thoughts that try to make sense but are bludgeoned out of the way by that one repeating line._ _

__They’ve always hurt each other._ _

__She’s not walking away._ _

__She knows that this is going to end up hurting them both._ _

__

__X_ _

__

__He’s fully prepared to prove just how much he trusts her, to stand in place and let her hit him all the damn day long if she wants, if it’ll convince her that he’s forgiven her for the part she played in keeping Tahiti from him. As much as it pains him to watch her fall apart and lose her so valued control over herself. If this is what she needs of him, if she needs him to wait whilst she tears herself apart emotionally and strikes at him physically, then that's what he'll gift to her._ _

__He's devastated on her behalf. He hates that she still blames herself. She’s always been her harshest critic. The raw pain in her eyes... it makes his eyes sting, tears he can't shed swiftly blinked away. She needs him strong. He can't afford to fall apart right now. Not when she's so close to the edge of her control. He needs to be in control for both of them._ _

__But when she turns back around to face him there’s new resolve in her expression. She doesn’t give him a moment to think it through as she grabs for his arm, hauling him away from the pillar and pushing him beyond her, off balance with the momentum as he stumbles to remain up right. He turns with a question on his lips but her fist in his side robs him of the breath he’d intended to use._ _

__He shifts instinctively away from the next, shying to the left to remain out of reach even as he over rules his body’s instinctive need to stay hunched as it moans at him for allowing the pain. She follows up without hesitation and his arms find themselves in position to block even as he’s forced backwards._ _

__When he spins her from a captured arm, grappling her in tight against him in an attempt to hold her captive long enough to try to make her see sense, long enough to let him think himself, that’s when she speaks again._ _

__“I lied to you.”_ _

__It’s simple. Matter of fact. Monotone._ _

__The heel that bruises his instep is less painful as he’s forced to release her._ _

__“I betrayed you,” she continues. Voice bland. Emotionless. She could be reciting the dictionary for all the clues she’ll give him. She lashes out, direct, purposeful. No fancy disguises here. No overly flowery feints and misdirects. Just a straight forward strike with enough power to take his head off._ _

__“I reported on you,” she tells him what he already knows. The accusation at herself repetition of words he’s thrown at her within the comfort of his own thoughts so many times. She was under orders, he reminds himself forcibly. He sidesteps the attempted sweep at his legs, tries to get his knee up before she’s the time to rise. The contact is harder than he anticipates, the sound alone enough to make him cringe, and he instantly knows she’s thrown herself at it, chosen to make it count, taken the pain in a manner only she ever would._ _

__“I monitored you,” she continues. A strike to the left. A kick up higher than he’d ever dream of getting a leg. A glancing blow that lands to his shoulder as he turns away. That there’s blood dripping down her face doesn’t appear to register to her. But he can’t take his eyes off of it._ _

__“I checked up on you,” his ears hear the words, his feet shift away from the incoming strikes, his arms raise to block like some marionette with his strings being pulled. Those words should be reassuring – a friend checking up on him. They’re not._ _

__“I had every damn room in the plane bugged so that I could keep tabs on you.” He ducks down low under the leg that passes far too close to his ear, strikes back at her weight bearer while he’s down there. She didn’t do it because she was a friend. She topples, catches herself knee and hands, spins away and back up like his best assault has barely interrupted her. She wasn’t checking whether he was alright because she cared._ _

__“I listened in on _every_ conversation you had with your team,” she continues as she engages again. She forgets it was her team too. Hell! She picked them. Played him like a marionette puppet as she formed the team around him. _ _

__“I invaded,” she pauses when he clashes with her, when he uses every inch of advantage his thrice be-damned robotic arm gives him in holding her captive against her will. She snarls the words, spits them almost into his face, “every... single... private... moment you thought you had.” He can’t hold her this close when she’s firing fury at him. He doesn’t want to be so near to such hatred as she delivers those words with every essence of spite she can bring to bear. He flings her away again, barely caring when the force makes her trip, sends her falling to her knees, when his ears hear her split second cry or how she rubs at her wrist as she rises._ _

__

__x_ _

__

__It hurts._ _

__But it's not enough._ _

__It's nowhere close to enough. Nowhere near what they need from each other right now. A slight twinge to her wrist, a busted nose, few bruised ribs... it's..._ _

__Not enough._ _

__She doesn't waste time rising to her feet - she knows better than that rookie mistake - covers the distance spinning on a knee, one leg out stretched as she closes, momentum continuing the spin, colliding with his legs as he crashes to the mats with an almost silent oath. She curses herself almost as much as he curses her for the move - she isn't supposed to be hurting him. The opposite._ _

__She rises slowly, doesn't follow it up. Waits for him to roll to his feet before stepping up behind him, feinting a reach around for a choke hold she'd never be able to pull off this late, leaving herself open for the countering raised elbow._ _

__It makes no sense to her conscious mind but taking the blow feels right. Feels like justice._ _

__Penance._ _

__Deserved._ _

__His eyes flinch and he withdraws physically away from her. He never wants to hurt her, she reminds herself. She shakes her head in a ridiculous attempt to clear her thoughts. Doesn't matter what he wants. Not right now. They need this._ _

__That he has lingering resentment, as much as he’s said he’s forgiven her previously, is obvious from the pain he doesn’t even seem to be trying to hide from her any more. That she still feels guilty about lying to him, having to, no – deciding to. It was a decision of hers as much as she saw no other viable option for keeping him alive, keeping him sane, keeping him safe, it was still a decision. Her decision. Her choice to betray him; her decision that hurt him. She can rationalise the reasons, can make excuses in her head and she knows it was the right damn decision. But the guilt still lingers ._ _

__Fading steadily into the background with every pulse of pain that echoes through the point where her teeth have cut the inside of her cheek. She presses her tongue against the wound, tastes the bitter copper in her mouth, and swallows heavily._ _

__It's not enough._ _

__

__x_ _

__

__"I don't blame you," his mouth tells her even as his eyes narrow belying the assurance._ _

__"I forgive-" she hits him. A fist to his lower gut, choking off his lying words before he can complete them. She grabs his head as he doubles over, forcing him down to meet the knee she raises. He grabs for her thigh, hauls her to the left, twisted, off balance. He keeps hold even as she falls, doesn't let go until she's hit the ground, her attempts to take him down with her easily avoided. He twists and she's forced to roll to compensate. Human knees are not meant to bend that way. She screams, kicks out, and he releases her._ _

__It's not enough._ _

__

__She spins on her back on the mats, arms outstretched seeking targets to trip. He stamps down - too slow, too focused on her arms, her hands, the wrong targets. He should stomp at her face, try to fall a knee onto her neck, the nuclear options. She is not his friend._ _

__"I'm your enemy, Coulson," she reminds him even as he steps backwards out of reach and she pushes to her feet watching him warily._ _

__"You're my _friend_ , Melinda," he retorts his tone condescending, like she's some child that's failed to see the blindingly obvious. She wasn't Melinda then. And he wasn't Phil. They weren't friends._ _

__"I lied to you," she starts and they clash in an exchange of blows she needs to keep him from responding, from denying the blunt truth of her statement. He was Agent Coulson and she Agent May. Him the possibly crazy undead science project inhabiting the visage of her best friend... and her the specialist assigned to put him down._ _

__"To protect me from the truth," he grunts out as they separate away._ _

__She discounts his words without reflection. She's been through the lines before, so many times, in her mind. She's made all the arguments, all the excuses. They're immaterial. The facts remain irrespective of the excuses - she was his friend and she betrayed him. She deserves this._ _

__She dives back at him, pushing him backwards with each accusation that she fires at herself because he won't!_ _

__"I spied on you!" She strikes and kicks, forces him to move, to evade, to block because he simply isn't fast enough to meet her speed._ _

__"I watched you when you thought you might be losing your mind." She struggles to hold herself back, to override her training and let the counter strikes land where they may. Even concentrating she move instinctively, curses herself each time her body shifts away from a blow she could have let land._ _

__"I saw you frantically searching for help." He sees as she leaves an opening, his fist bruising where it hits. He catches her deliberately slower counter, rotates until her body screams at her and she takes his leg out from under him forcing him to step quickly to remain standing. She strikes low, for his side, kidneys he protects with a too hard blow from his replacement hand. The pain reverberates up her arm, makes her bite her tongue, forces her back as he follows up._ _

__He doesn't stop. That surprises her. She doesn't give him time to re-think. She doesn't want his damnable control to reassert itself._ _

__She doesn't stop. "I saw you, I heard you, I reported on you and I did _nothing_ ," she spits at him, half cradling her arm for the seconds she has before she's forced to react._ _

__"I knew when you turned desperate." She daren't shift away, daren't retreat and give him time. She meets his attack with fists and feet, elbows and knees, meets his growing fury with her own. Turns their forces combined upon herself._ _

__It’s not enough._ _

__"I listened in when you tried praying to a higher power. When you screamed out to a God we both know you don’t believe in because you were so lost, so desperate, you didn't have anyone else to turn to!" She takes a blow to her right side, it lifts her from her feet, nausea hits as she catches herself across a bench, palms stinging with the impact. She kicks out backwards, catching a side blow to his knee, giving her the time to push back up, to turn and meet the fist to her face. That he's still pulling the blows is obvious from the fact she's not considering the darkness._ _

__It's not enough._ _

__"I knew the answers when you didn't even know the questions!" she throws the words out at him as carelessly as she throws her strikes, to torment him, to rile him, to goad him into responding out of anger or hatred or sheer damn frustration!_ _

__"I could have helped. I _chose_ not to."_ _

__"I chose to watch you suffer." She takes the kick to her thigh, counters with a shove to his torso that he'll barely feel tomorrow, revels in the narrowed eyes piercing into her soul, slowly growing furious. Steadily unravelling him. Forcing off the shackles of his control. Unveiling the man behind the mask. Finding truth beneath._ _

__"I watched when you trashed your room out of sheer frustration!"_ _

__“I knew...” she breaks off as her voice breaks on her. Swallows and starts back again, twice as determined, twice as hard, twice as broken. “I knew... when you’d decided to give up. I _knew_ and I nearly...” she stops that train of thought. She daren’t go any further down that line. She’d been so close._ _

__She didn’t._ _

__She chose not to._ _

__She _chose_ to let him suffer._ _

__He’s sped past her whilst her mind is distracted, a feint she never saw pulled anyway as he passes, ducking beneath her outstretched arm to slip behind her. Back to back. An elbow crashes into her side, a heel stomping her calf, forcing her to drop down as her knee gives way to the pain. He spins back the other way, the quick combo instinctive if a little rusty, an elbow that should strike her temple, should take her out of the fight. It’s almost a relief. This is over._ _

__His aim is off. Too high. He doesn’t fight often enough against a variety of opponents to adjust his aim naturally down to her smaller size._ _

__She rolls back up, spins to face him, catching the tail end of a blow to the chin._ _

__She pushes him. "I chose to monitor you. Report on you. Watch you." She takes the half hearted strikes for each in turn as they continue._ _

__Fair penance._ _

__Not enough._ _

__"I heard when you broke down and cried yourself to sleep!" She throws herself at him. Chases him even as he hesitates to retaliate full force. Hits him as she only wishes she could hurt herself._ _

__"I chose to continue. To keep lying to you. Betraying you." She strikes with each accusation. Takes the counters that follow._ _

__"Even when I knew you were breaking." His arms shake with the effort._ _

__"Every!" His fists clenched too tightly._ _

__"Damn!" His face drawn white. A ghost. Tormented._ _

__"Night!" His eyes-_ _

__"ARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!" His hands grab her shoulders as he charges, uncaring of how her feet are forced to backpedal, of how her hands grab for his arms to keep herself from falling, of how her back meets the wall with a dull thump and her head with a sharper crack!_ _

__“Yes, I blame you!” he roars into her carefully blanked face, overcome with the anger and rage that conceals a far greater emotion deep inside – his hurt._ _

__“You were supposed to be a friend!” he shouts, releasing the pressure only to slam her back against the wall harder._ _

__“My friend!” he shoves her again and although her head hits it’s from her shoulder that she flinches, trying instinctively to pull away from where his monstrosity of a hand digs into her flesh too tightly. Too painfully._ _

__He tells himself he doesn’t care._ _

__“And you did that to me!” All the pain and accusation in his voice drags her defence from her as surely as if he had sucked the very life from her bones._ _

__Shoving her is no longer enough. He doesn’t want to let the wall bruise her back where he’ll never see. He hurts and he wants her to hurt. He wants to be the cause. To hurt her like she’s hurt him and slamming her against a wall is insufficient! She barely even flinches! He lets go her shoulders, left hand hammering into the wall beside her face. Then she jumps, eyes suddenly wild. Afraid. Good – she should be. He leans in close in unspoken threat to savour the taste of her fear, the rush of power heady, the righteousness of this moment._ _

__He strikes with his right fist._ _

__He has to feel the blow. Has to feel as his flesh and bone meets her soft skin. Has to savour every moment of the feel of it driving into her body, the momentary elasticity, the instant of resistance, the tremors that ricochet up his arm, the noise deafening and yet silent all at once as his pulse charges raging through his ears drowning out all else. The air escapes her as he drives it up from her lungs in a shout that is glorious even in its brevity. He doesn’t care that she has to struggle to stand herself back upright, he doesn’t notice that her hands have clenched into tight fists at her sides, he doesn’t feel as she presses away from him, that she slumps backwards against the wall using it as support to keep herself upright._ _

__He doesn’t care to._ _

__

__He strikes again, flesh crunching into flesh._ _

. 

__And again, the blood pounding in his ears._ _

. 

__And again, the sweat on his forehead dripping, obscuring his vision so much that he’s forced to close his eyes to the sting._ _

. 

__Again, the pain of his knuckles as the skin splits driving him on harder, faster, challenging him to repay his pain tenfold upon her._ _

. 

__And again, blinded. By hurt. By pain. By rage._ _

. 

__Again._ _

. 

__And again._ _

. 

. 

__And again._ _

. 

__

__

__x_ _


	14. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not enough.

Chapter 14 - Enough

 

Meanwhile, back in the surveillance room...  


_“What the FUCK?!”_

__  
“W-Why is she-”

_“Why is HE?!”_

_“May-” Daisy’s up, out of her seat and almost out the door when Bobbi grabs for her arm. Surprise makes her hesitate at the grip, her own momentum spinning her around to face back in to the room. She jumps at the sound of the door slamming back shut behind her and curses herself internally for the reaction. It was only the door._

_But she’s wound too tight. Her emotions too near the surface. Shields stripped bare by the shock of everything that they’ve witnessed. May needs helps._

_She swings her head back towards the door, intending to leave. She needs to leave. To get to the gym. To do – she doesn’t know what. Something. Anything! She’ll work that out once she gets there._

_That Hunter is leaning so seemingly casually holding said door firmly shut and showing no intention of moving any time soon draws her glare, as well as her confusion. Why he isn’t flying down to the gym to help May _with_ her is an issue that she simply doesn’t understand. It’s so completely beyond her reasoning, so irrational, so... She turns to take a step towards him. To make him move, to shake him, to make him see sense but is halted again by the firm grip on her wrist._

_She glares at the delicate seeming fingers that hold her so tightly trapped. They flare white at the pressure, matching the colourlessness of her wrist just beneath. She has a moment of clarity telling her mind that this should hurt. May’s hurt._

_She looks back to the door. May’s hurt. Hunter’s in her way. She needs to get to May. “Move,” she lets the low growl of a word slip out between clenched teeth, throws every essence of threat she can bring to bear in to that one short word in the hopes that it will be enough. When he drops his gaze feigning complete disinterest and pretends to buff his fingernails she gives up on him and looks to the real orchestrator of this little coup._

_Bobbi still has her wrist in hand. Eyes guarded. Body overly relaxed, a spy’s readiness. Simply standing, waiting for her to make the next move._

_May needs help. Bobbi should be helping May. Bobbi should be helping her get to May. Not preventing her leaving. It doesn’t make sense. Doesn't Bobbi understand? May needs help. Bobbi should understand. She's an agent, she has the training._

_As if the reminder is enough to kick start her brain into compliance, training reasserts. Assess the environment. Mack – her partner. Partners can be trusted to back you up no matter the situation. Mack is close enough to them that she knows he was following her out the door. That Bobbi dragged her well off to one side of Mack’s position is simply Bobbi's lack of trust – it leaves the two of them in a space far enough away that Mack isn’t an enemy at Bobbi’s back. A quick flick of the eyes and she’s almost certain of it – partners don’t need words to communicate. They’ve been partners for a while now. The doubt creeps in when she catches a similar too quick look between Mack and Bobbi. Mack was Bobbi’s partner for a lot longer..._

_Fitz – her brother. Or as close to one as she’s ever going to get. Although... Jiaying was alive for a while... not the time, she forced to remind herself but she is filing that thought away for later. A lot later. He’s cautious. Cautiously standing where they’ve been sat. Not making any move. He’d help May. She’s certain of it. But he wasn’t following her out the door. He wasn’t stopping her either. She can trust Fitz. Can’t she?_

_She swallows, pulls lightly at her captured wrist, just enough to see if Bobbi intends to keep hold of her. When the woman doesn’t let go she glares back up at her. She doesn’t want to fight Bobbi._

_But May needs help._

_“We need to get down there,” Daisy says, proud that she’s managed to hold her tone to a low growl rather than shouting that the pair of them are idiots._

_“No. We don’t” is Bobbi’s simple response, filled with false empathy even as she puts on her sad little mask. Pfft. Spies – can never tell what they’re really thinking when expressions are just another tool for deception. She’s never fallen for Bobbi’s bouncy happy mask, why would she fall for this commiserating one now?_

_She rotates her arm, breaking Bobbi’s grip simply and effectively as she takes a step back. She’s half grateful, half surprised when Bobbi takes no counter measures to defeat the move. Maybe they aren’t going to fight about this._

_“I’m going,” Daisy announces with a confidence she doesn’t particularly feel – even with the advantage of her powers, in a small room when she daren’t use too much force and has no wish to kill anyone or bring the base down around their ears, Bobbi has the upper hand. Taller. Longer reach. Stronger. Better trained._

_As Bobbi’s eyes flick to granite, Daisy wryly appreciates that she might be the only one of the two of them unwilling to hurt the other._

_“You’re not.”_

__  
X

 

Phil knows the rage that fills him – knows it intimately.

It’s the wake up. Thump.

The discovery. Thud.

Revelation. Punch.

It’s that instant of dawning realisation that everything you believed in was false. That moment of silent horror when the betrayal hits home - sharper than a blade to the heart, incalculably more painful. It robs you of breath. It stutters the heart. Limbs heavy and unwieldy. Body shocked into stillness.

Even as the mind flies - a mad panic darting too swiftly to focus consciously from thought to moment to memory to – re-analysing every minutiae of a memory, observing with new information changes the interpretation, everyone knows that. Memories are the rapidly deteriorating record of a biased mind.

He’d rehashed every moment in that instant, even if he couldn’t consciously recall any. He’d seen the guilt in her eyes. He’d heard it in her voice. He’d felt the betrayal – so many smaller betrayals throughout his memories all jumbled, colliding and compounding to this, to this one instant. He’d found no comfort in her excuses that day. Nor in the days that followed thereafter.

His fist finds comfort in the slight softness that gives beneath his hits.

 

x

 

Back to the surveillance room...  
_  
"Bob," Mack's low gravelly voice cautions her not to push this to the seemingly inevitable confrontation. It gives Daisy confidence that he'll come down on the right side of this, that he'll back her play when she needs him. She already knows Hunter will end up following Bobbi's lead - they'll fight one another viciously but it's a definite them against anyone else even when they're fighting. He should grow a pair, she thinks uncharitably._

_“You know I can take you down,” Daisy says, letting herself shift into a better stance, tensing and releasing muscles in turn in preparation. Readying herself. She can do this._

_"Daisy-" Mack's voice aches with disappointment, a layer of slight surprise concealed under the barely leashed frustration, and she's suddenly on the back foot again - because it's becoming apparent that he might not intend to back her up. That he's not intending to help her. To help May. May needs help._

_Fine._

_She can take them all. One minor blast. She steps backwards towards the door. Keeps her senses trained on Hunter behind her lest he try something to catch her unawares. She needs them all on the same side. Needs them away from the door. If she can catch them together with one blanket push then she_ should _have the time to get through the door. To get to the gym. To get to May. To-_

_She tenses at the rustle of clothing and pivots to face Hunter as he uncrosses his casually lent legs and saunters closer to her position._

_"You planning to fight us Daisy?" his words are quiet, serious when he so rarely ever is. Somehow it makes them more poignant. "To flatten we mere humans with your super powers?"_

_"I-" Her answer is 'yes' but now he's actually asking what she intends, she's not entirely sure that it’s the right answer. In the heat of the moment, she knows. She knows that she needs to go, to get to May. That they're blocking her leaving. That she could stop them. She knows. May needs help._

_"To hurt your friends?" Hunter doesn't even sound cocky as he asked. Hunter never fails to sound cocky, in anything. She doesn't want to hurt her friends. "Doesn't that make you the villain of this piece?" No. She isn't the villain. She'd never..._

_Coulson is the villain._

_She'd never hurt her friends._

_But Coulson is beating on May and she needs to get down there!_

_“Coulson-" she starts to explain, to try to make them see the true facts even when it’s beyond her comprehension how they can’t see Coulson’s rage, can’t see the damage he’s causing her, can’t understand that May needs help._

_“Needs to get this out,” Bobbi justifies their stupid decision to ignore May's need for help. Daisy is left almost speechless at how badly they've all misinterpreted the situation._

_"May-" she starts again only to be interrupted - again._

_"Needs this," Bobbi says as though that should make any kind of sense in a reasonable and usually rational seeming world._

_"May needs help," Daisy pleads with them to understand, her voice almost breaking at the thought of the pain that May's suffering, at the pain they are all now forcing her through by their lack of action. Someone needs to stop this._

_"No. She really doesn't."_

_“He’s not – this isn’t a game anymore!” Daisy’s aware that her voice has risen, that maybe it even holds the slight trace of panic, but all she can see is May up against the wall, eyes tightly shut to block out the pain-_

_“It was never a game,” Fitz’ quietly saddened voice breaks in to her distress. Okay, so he’s right. This was never a game to them. They were wrong to be betting. To be, oh God, joking. They’re-_

_“They’re hurting each other!”_

_“They need to have this out,” Hunter moves far enough away from the door that she could make a dash for it but she can’t find it in herself to make the try without getting them to see reason. She's doubting._

_“May needs help,” Daisy tries again but even now she’s sounding less sure, less certain, and far less determined to go flying through the base in rescue._

__"They_ need this,” Hunter repeats and somehow the lack of his usual joking manner is convincing her thoughts despite the slight thudding sounds she can still hear beating in the background and the nausea that rises when her brain makes the connection._

_“May _needs_ help,” Daisy tries again but now it seems she’s even lost Mack as he turns back to face the screens. “We can’t just...”_

_Bobbi’s deep breath draws her attention. The casual shift of weight she wouldn’t even normally notice saying that they aren’t going to fight anymore. Bobbi’s taller but unthreatening as she reaches and ensnares her wrist again, as she tugs her back across to the screens and she follows the pull not altogether willingly but willing to be convinced._

_“May doesn’t need help,” Bobbi says and then she points. “He’s aiming for pain not injury.”_

_The factual way she says that has Daisy doubting Bobbi’s sanity. “So because he’s not KILLING her we’re supposed to let it happen?!”_

_“No,” Bobbi counters before she can charge back to the door in a rage. “We’re supposed to respect her choice,” now even Bobbi’s tone has turned sharp. Bobbi waves again at the screen and Daisy’s damning her eyes for following the gesture right so easily. “She’s a highly trained specialist,” Bobbi continues and she’s knows that, damn it. She knows May can kick any of their butts in hand to hand. She knows that Coulson is no real match for her, though admittedly he does fight far better than any one of them would have guessed. She knows that May can probably get herself out of this at any point. She knows._

_“But-”_

_All she can see is May in trouble. All she can see is how the woman is trapped against the back wall of the gym. All she sees is how May’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, distancing herself from the inevitable pain, trying to hold back tears, who knows. All she hears is the harsh breaths. The repetitive dull thuds of a fist driving in to flesh. The rapid inhales that accompany each. The struggle not to cry out, not to groan or to let even the smallest whimper escape. She can almost feel it as if she were standing there. Right there in May’s shoes._

_Only May isn’t wearing shoes. Neither of them are._

_Her bare feet planted shoulder width apart._

_Her eyes follow the line up. May’s legs are free. Muscles tense. Fighting -_

_To her hips, eyes caught at May’s hands that sit at either side, tightly curled into fists of pain, then flexing, all fingers extended, flattened against the wall behind her, shaking lightly with the effort of holding still. To her face. Tightly screwed shut eyes. Swollen and bitten lips. The trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. The shadowed patches that will all too soon become bruises as her body catches up. The stubbornly raised chin as she refuses to let her head drop, refuses to permit her body to curl in upon itself, refuses to show any signs-_

_Her mind catches up to what she’s seeing with startling clarity and she doesn’t need the running commentary that Bobbi takes up. She’s already there._

_“May’s hands are free” (curled tightly into fists of pain)..._

_“She could block” (or maybe they’re curled tightly trying to prevent her covering herself)..._

_“Or counter” (but maybe she just doesn’t want to attack him back)..._

_“Her legs are free” (she could block, attack... hell just move away)..._

_“She’s not pinned in place” (she’s holding herself there)..._

_“She could leave if she wanted to” (she doesn’t want to)..._

_"May's standing there willingly. She's playing punching bag for a reason Daisy..._

_Bobbi’s voice trails off and leaves those of them who doubted to find the truth of it for themselves. May could easily get out of this. May could avoid those repeated dull thuds. May could- she’s choosing this, to let this happen for guilt or trust or friendship or whatever STUPID reason that’s flying round May’s head right now... she’s choosing to stand there and let Phil hit her. Beat on her._

_“So, we just...”_

_“We just,” Bobbi confirms with a sad certainty as she retakes her seat._

__  
x

 

That she's still conscious is a not altogether pleasant surprise. She wanted him to lose control, to hurt her like she hurt him, to punish her, absolve her. Maybe even afterwards to be able to forgive her. She's managed to lock her legs in place, to stay standing for the hits, because she knew that if she faltered he would likewise falter and fail. When he hits her it hurts. It hurts so good that it's almost a relief. It's certainly a release - of pressure, of guilt. That it’s only his right fist reminds her with every forgiving blow that he doesn’t actually want her hurt permanently, repeats in her mind with every strike his care for her above – well, no, not above all else. If either of them cared for the other above all else then neither of them would be here, bleeding invisible wounds from too many cuts inflicted by the other. It’s better that it’s his right, not for the lesser injury, but that it’s more personal - he can feel what he does with that right hand, the fist sinking into her flesh, the absolute humanity beneath the clothes and skin and muscle – his fist driving the ghosts of regret from her body as surely as it drives the air from her lungs. 

 

x

 

He can feel her but he can't hear her. He glares, manages to focus bleary eyes upon her traitorous face. She’s clenching her jaw, biting down hard upon her tongue to deny him any further cries from her pain, cries he deserves. 

He hits harder. 

Her swollen lips, bloodied and bitten, her face wet from the tears she’ll deny she’s ever shed, her chest heaving, breaths irregular, forced.

Harder again, until the gasp turns into a short groan. Until an exhale almost sounds like a whimper.

It’s not enough.

 

His feet slip on the mat, forcing him to back up to shift into a better stance. She doesn’t move, doesn’t react. She’s not even looking at him!

Her eyes are tightly shut denying him her eyes, denying him the truth of her reactions. 

It’s not enough!

She needs to see this. Not divorce herself from what's happening. Disappear from him. From the here and now. She has to be here, has to feel it all or what the hell is the point? Her blank mask of a face tells him nothing! Devoid of emotion! He can't! It lets her hide! Always lets her hide! She hides so much from him! 

“Look at me,” he demands furious. He needs to see her lying eyes! He needs- 

He swallows.

Hard.

Her eyes don't lie. There’s bewildered pain in the soft chocolate of eyes so deep her could stare into them for infinity and still never reach the bottom of those pools. 

She hurts.

His fist drops, his shoulder muscles releasing without conscious thought directing them to fail him.

She hurts.

She stands there in pain and she lets him take what he needs... She hurts and hurts and when will she stop letting people hurt her? Stop letting him hurt her?

He takes and she gives. More than she ever should.

Her self-imposed penance for impossible decisions made.

She was better off away from Shield. Away from him.

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
__

_“No. Nonononononono!” Daisy is back on her feet. She’d lasted three more thuds. Three times she watched as his fist drove into her body. Three times she heard the dull thud of fist colliding with flesh, heard the sudden intake of breath, the biting back of a groan. Three times she sat and did NOTHING whilst a friend got hurt. She can’t sit here and watch another blow fall. Can’t sit and pretend that all is well simply because May could get away if she wanted. Can’t just - “I won’t!” The rest of them can fight her on this if they want but there is no way she is just going to sit here and let May get herself beaten up. No way in hell!_

_“It’s her choice, Daisy,” Bobbi starts but it’s the normally reasonable deep tones of Mack repeating the words that has her hesitating. Again._

_She turns, meets Fitz’ sad eyes. Sad and hurting puppy dog eyes pleading with her to – to what? To stop them? To leave them be? To somehow just magically fix everything?! “Let them finish this,” Fitz says and drops his eyes to the desk unable to meet the astonishment that no doubt fills her own. Even Fitz? Et tu Brute?_

_She’s nearly as angry at him for taking the cowardly way out as she is at herself for almost wanting to agree with him._

_A fourth dull thump, the harsh hiss of air driven from protesting lungs. May’s slight whimper makes the decision for her. “Her choice is a stupid fucking choice and the rest of you are OUT OF YOUR MINDS letting this happen!”_

_“Dais-”_

_She’s not waiting around for them to stop her this time. She knocks away Hunter’s half-hearted attempt to block her with an arm, fires a low pulse in Bobbi's position to give herself a head start. She’s half out the door on her way to put an end to this stupidity despite their protestations when Fitz’ quiet voice stops her in turn._

_“He’s stopped.”_

__  
x

 

He’s stopped. 

Her bleary eyes are little help to working out his expression as they refuse to focus clearly against the harsh light through the remnants of tears that have expressed themselves despite her attempts at control.

Exhausted his body slumps against hers, and she shifts quickly so that her arms come up around him, catching him to prevent him from sliding down to the ground, supporting him despite the pain it causes her. That’s nothing more than she deserved.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out - whether for collapsing on her or beating on her is unclear. 

She lets a humourless snort escape at that but her chest bemoans the movement and she ends up wincing and trying to shift him to an easier position to support him. She ends up half under him, slumped as he is in an all too sweaty hug, his head crowding over her shoulder, forehead against the cool wall. Taking stock. Regaining control.

She lets her eyes fall back closed. Exhausted and hurting. Holds him tighter ignoring how much more it hurts. Gives him the time he needs to recover. Gives herself the time to regain a semblance of control. She lets him rest against her because it means she can hold him close and just right now she's no energy to continue to be strong. No defences left. 

She hurts.

 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl for beta-ing :)


	15. Just say you'll come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her hand is wet, bloodied, bruised. Her knuckles scraped and the majority split. She should have wrapped them. She hadn't honestly expected the need to. She'd thought they were just blowing off steam. She never imagined that it would go like this. That they'd end up hurting each other for real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you guys leaving me lovely comments absolutely rock! You really do make my day!
> 
> Kudos all to Devilgrrl for beta-ing even when she's no time - though this chapter has not yet received her magic touch so any errors therein are entirely mine!
> 
> Good news is we are nearing a conclusion... but that's kinda the bad news too...

Chapter 15 – Come Back

 

Fuck she hurts!

She presses back further against the harsh solidity of the wall, irregularities in the brick work scratching across her skin, keeping her alert enough to keep them both standing. Enough to keep him from falling to the floor despite the dead weight slumped half hanging over her shoulder. Dead weight? Bad choice of phrasing. The light chuckle that rocks her chest silently prompts the various pains throughout her body in to making themselves known. Immediately. Painfully.

Even as she tries valiantly to convince herself that pain is only a reminder that she's alive.

She hurts.

All down her left hand side screams at her, pounding in time with the pulse that resounds through her head. At least one cracked rib, probably more. She'll be bandaged and "taking it easy" for weeks. It's an inconvenience to say the least. She snorts derisively but that stings too, tears dripping from her eyes unordered at the pain. She struggles to quickly free one arm, wiping it under too wet eyes, catching the stickiness of congealed blood from where her skin has split at the temple. She pulls her hands away, forces too tired eyes to focus properly. Her hand is wet, bloodied, bruised. Her knuckles scraped and the majority split. She should have wrapped them. She hadn't honestly expected the need to. She'd thought they were just blowing off steam. She never imagined that it would go like this. That they'd end up hurting each other for real.

"I'm sorry," she whispers down to his slumped form.

He moves, his groans corresponding with her own as the shift changes his weight against her, pulls upon muscles that protest the movement. He pushes back away, seeking to take his weight upon his own two legs, legs that are probably too weak to support him. She scrabbles to catch him but pain lances up her side, hindering her attempts, and she falls with him, hindering his descent as much as she can just as he reaches out to try to catch her. They both end up on the ground after what should have been a comedy sketch detailing the attempt of two people unable to support themselves properly falling whilst trying to catch the other. Her morbid sense of humour tells her it's not particularly funny. It doesn't stop her chuckling along with him when they both end up sat down hard upon the mats. The laughing hurts and she winces, clutching at her side. The reminder is a cold bucket of ice, dousing his chuckling with an immediacy that hurts.

"I think that's my line," he murmurs as he forces himself in to a kneeling position, pushing her hand out of the way to get a closer look at the damage. She half heartedly fights his attempts to pull her top up so that he can see what is no doubt a spectacular rainbow of extensive bruising - he doesn't need to see the results of his actions - but she's little energy to argue with him properly over it and, honestly, she doesn't want to fight anymore. The rapid inhale when he succeeds is a shallow echo of the devastating guilt across his face. His hand hovers above her, almost afraid to touch. "I'm sorry," are the words he forces out across a choked sounding throat.

"Forgiven," she says simply and almost laughs at the bewildered expression he turns up on her as he continues to hover. She smiles instead. It's less painful. "Forgive me?" she asks lightly. She knows he'll read in to her words how important this is to her despite the attempted lightness of her tone. 

This means everything.

He catches her jaw, suddenly serious, staring intently at her face as his cool fingers prod lightly testing a bruise that makes her wince but he doesn't say anything as he catalogues her injuries for himself.

His lack of verbal response sends her thoughts plummeting, a downward spiral of despairing thoughts that he can't, that he never will, be able to forgive her. Even after all of this. After getting it all out in the open, making him hurt her, making him make her pay for it. Restitution. Justice. Maybe it's not enough. Maybe she can never really find forgiveness, even for this, her lesser of greater sins.

“Maybe you should hit me some more...” she says quietly but its only half joking. 

He redirects her face up to his when she attempts to move away, the “never” so vehemently stated that there should be no doubt in her mind. She swallows at the feeling of vulnerability that hits her unexpected, the desire to run high on her body's list of priorities rather than sit here stripped bare emotionally before him.

 

Her eyes fall shut in an attempt to regain some distance, some perspective. If she can find some perspective maybe she can regain some control, shore up some defences, rebuild some walls. If she can do it before he finds more words that hurt a thousand times more than his fists irrespective of his intentions... if she can, then maybe, just maybe, she can even get through this without taking on any more damage. She can't take much more. She'll have to run away again. No matter how distasteful the idea, it's better to leave them all than to break with them inside the blast radius. 

"You did the right thing, Melinda," is what he says but she knows that doesn't equate to forgiveness. Doesn't mean anything much really. Doing the _right_ thing is a hollow reassurance in their line of work. A subjective justification when rational objective reasoning is far from being found. The opposite reaction - telling him - could just as easily be labelled 'the right thing' by a subjective observer.

"You couldn't do anything else really," his words float through her mind unimpeded. In through one ear and out of the other - a curious saying given the facts. She hears the words with two ears, sound vibrations caused by his vocal chords playing upon her body, affecting it without her permission. She can't not hear anything he says. She isn't given that choice. She wishes that she were.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says and her mind catches at those words as they drift along firing neurones, turns them over, mulls upon his meaning without permitting a subjective interpretation, without permitting an emotional attachment. She feels numb from the endorphin high. Not quite with it. Not quite real. Sorry I hurt you - a blanket apology or more specific. Does he mean just now? The injuries she invited by enticing him to lose control? Or before - is it an apology for everything that's brought them to this point? All the lies and the emotional pain they've inflicted on one another? Or is it an apology in advance for what's yet to come - an acknowledgment that they will hurt each other in the future? That such is inevitable?

"You'd do it all again?" he asks quietly, his voice the only thing that closes the distance between them, breaking the silence. She's struggling to catch up to his words, feel like she's treading water just to keep from drowning, his refusal to forgive her has sapped her strength. 

She inhales deeply, sucking in air rapidly, knowing that she's going to have to give him the answer he does not want to hear. She can't see a way round it. Silence would be as much of an answer as answering him out right and she won't tell him another comforting lie. Yes, she'd do it all again. How could she not? He's here, alive, healthy. If she has to lie to him, to hurt him, to lose their friendship to make that happen - it's a small price to pay for him being alive again.

"You got my back if I return from the dead even if it means Tahiti and lying to me again?" he follows it up, rephrasing in a manner that makes his thought process obvious even as his head tilts towards her, sharing his slight smile confirming his understanding, maybe dare she even hope an almost forgiveness of her choices. A short sob of too hopeful relief escapes her even as she blinks back the tears that threaten and she curses herself for the weakness.

Her head nods even as her voice says to the contrary, “No.”

“No?!” He sounds puzzled. Concerned. Confused. Maybe even a little bit hurt.

"No,” she quickly elaborates, “I'm not letting you die again without me." It’s said seriously. A promise made. A vow, to him. To herself.

It’s too serious for a minute. For two. The weight of that promise, of the feelings behind it, too heavy for the room.

"Daisy gets to lie to us both about it if we're Tahiti'd," she breaks the silence hoping to elicit a smile. 

 

X

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room...  
 _  
“Ahhh that’s sweet,” Daisy says having had the past twenty minutes in silence with the rest of them, trying to bring her thoughts back in line, trying to work her way through what’s happened, to find some kind of peace with the fact that the two of them have been beating on one another. Trying to catch up with the fact that the two of them now seem to be at peace with it themselves._

_She’s pleased she’s been nominated._

_Really, she is. Out of everyone that May would choose her, that May thinks of her as the closest to them, the one most likely to be able to- wait a minute. “I think. Er... is that sweet?” she checks with everyone else who is slowly shaking their heads from side to side. “Well I think it’s a little sweet,” she mumbles to herself . They did pick her after all.  
_

 

x

 

A cool hand caresses down her face, presses against a bruise tentatively, cautiously feeling for the break that isn't there. She pulls her head from his doctoring - there's no point to his prodding, the Shield medics with actual medical training are going to want to repeat all of it anyway, probably at great length whilst she curses them under her breath, her glares ineffective. 

"I'm fine," she grumbles at him well aware that it comes out slightly petulant but not entirely caring.

"That must be a new record for the worst lie ever told," he grumbles back at her and if she'd care to open her eyes then she'd be rolling them at his too obvious attempts to continue to lighter subjects.

"Fine. I hurt," she says and bares her teeth at him in what he should assume is more grimace than smile.

"No shit." His snorting laugh is a relief when she knows he could have chosen to take it another way - pile on the blame and guilt until the tower's ready to topple from the weight of it all.

"I shit you not," she borrows the phrase from Daisy. She's always quite liked it. Never had the opportunity to use it, until now.

His few chuckles say that he enjoys the phrase just as much as she, probably more given that she's the one who's lowered herself to utter the Daisy-ism but as they fall back in to silence there's nothing she can find to say. She usually likes the silence. It's simple. Companionable. Undemanding.

There's nothing that she likes about this silence.

She's searching for words she can't find. That he's not speaking when he always has the words is concerning. Worrying. Despite all this, all is not well between them.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

She should feel relieved. She should feel better. Shouldn't she?

 

x

 

"So."

"So?"

"Are we good?" How he can even ask that of her when they can't even find the words to speak to one another as casual acquaintances might - never mind as friends should - would be beyond her if she didn't already know the man.

"Phil-"

"Just say you're coming back," he says but she can't tell from the tone alone whether he intended that to be a demand or a plea. Probably he doesn't know himself.

She wants nothing more than to say 'yes' with all her heart.

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…

_  
"I don't believe it. He's going to say it," Daisy's hushed voice is equal parts astonished, hopeful and glee-filled. "After everything, he's finally going to admit it!" There's no need to explain what 'it' is. They've been waiting for the two of them to figure 'it' out, to say 'it' out loud for the past several years. They've been betting on it for at least three years - the original two of them have anyway. There've even been bets that they've already said it. Accompanying bets that the two have been having a secret relationship the entire time. No one really doubts that they'd be good enough to pull it off. There have not, however, been any bets that the two would beat each other to a bloody pulp before confessing... 'it'._

_"He's not going there," Bobbi is quick to refute with a melancholy little smile._

_"Yes he is," Daisy insists immediately, as though by insisting enough she will make it happen through force of will alone._

_"Fifty bucks. He's saying it," Mack backs her up, firmly to the rolling eyes of the rest of them – as if Mack has ever not backed her up on every single point since the two of them became their own little special ops duo._

_“He's not going to," Fitz says sadly. “He wouldn’t want to risk ruining what they already have,” he continues the explanation and everyone else in the room finds somewhere else to look as they realise the immediate parallel._

_“But he's definitely feeling it," Hunter jumps in quietly enough that no one is particularly offended by his usual ability to open his mouth before others might dare. Again, no one is particularly sure whether they’re speaking of May and Coulson or FitzSimmons._

_"Yeah," Mack._

_"Yeah," Bobbi._

_It doesn’t seem to matter who they’re talking about – all agree._

_"Poor bastard," Fitz concludes for all of them._

_There’s a moment’s silence as all search for something to say. Something heartfelt but not condescending. Or something that might get them back on track…_

_"She might say it," Daisy eventually leaps in to the multiple eye rolls, mocking scoffs, forced laughter and odd things being thrown at her head._

_"Well she's feeling it too," Daisy presses and the room goes silent but this time it’s in agreement._

__

x

 

"For me to come back..."

"Anything," he promises without reservation. Really he should know better. No, he does know better. She knows that he knows better than to promise something so outrageous. He's trained with spies, lived with spies, he knows to watch his words, to be cautiously specific in his promises. He's one of the best at sounding like he's promised the world without actually giving anything away. That he's not done so now is... puzzling. Optimistically puzzling, she decides with uncharacteristic hope.

"We need to sort one more thing," she eventually says but then she hesitates. She doesn't want to do this. To rip herself open again, leave herself entirely vulnerable to his castigation. To the words that she'd say hurt more than his fists only she's recently discovered just how much his fists can hurt. 

They both hurt. 

A lot.

But she can't return and pretend everything is okay between them, can't play along and wait for the scythe to fall. She can't live like that.

"Melinda?" his cautious question means she's stayed silent too long trying to argue herself in to more hurt, to rationalise the risk in her own thoughts, to summon up the courage... His fingertip on her cheek makes her jump, flinching away as her eyes fly open in sudden panic. He turns his finger to show her that's all it was or to demonstrate the wetness that lingers. Her hand flies to her own cheek, detects the silent tears than have been falling whilst she's been trying to think. She wipes at them hurriedly, trying to wipe away the evidence of her weaknesses but her sleeves are already wet from previous tears so she's left guessing whether her attempts have had any success. His concerned expression says probably not.

"Tell me, Melinda," he pleads and it's that more than anything that decides her mind for her. The man doesn't plead. He manipulates - he begs and challenges and cajoles and argues as a part of that but he never just flat out says what he's thinking and he never flat out pleads with that tone that says she'll break his heart if she doesn't tell him.

She swallows down the bile that rises when she tries to speak. 

She forces him away as she struggles to her feet with the aid of the wall. 

She needs to be standing if she's going to do this. 

She needs the distance. 

She needs the space. 

She needs the impression that she will be able to see the attack before it comes even though she knows rationally that there's nothing she can do to avoid the blow when the strikes are made with words and expressions and not with fists and blows. 

She needs it, however irrational. She needs the space. 

He staggers up to his feet in echo of her own position, keeps his arms spread out to either side in a non-threatening manner as though he can read her very thoughts. More likely just her body language. If he tried to close the distance right now she would probably flee. She is a coward. She doesn't want to hear the words from him again. Not from him. But if she's going to try again, to stay again, they need to have this out. He needs to say what he's going to and promise that that will be the end of it. That they can then move on. That she needn't spend the rest of her life worrying that he'll resurrect the issue and send her away again. Better to leave now than to take that risk. Even with the rationale...

Even once she's decided... it still takes her three attempts to force the word up out of her throat.

"Bahrain... We need to talk about Bahrain."

 

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger - again ;)


	16. Bahrain ... part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I give you the go ahead and you enter through the south alley. It's hot. Dusty. The parched air burns the back of the throat and every breath tastes of grit." ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially Unbeta'd - be warned!
> 
> Also loooong - should prob be several chaps but meh, I made u wait this long for it so couldn't cut off again before Bahrain!

Chapter 16 - Bahrain Part 1

 

_Even once she's decided... it still takes her three attempts to force the word up out of her throat._

_"Bahrain... We need to talk about Bahrain."_

 

“I am NOT hurting you over Bahrain.” 

She’s not surprised that’s the first thing he leaps to given their recent... discussions, but that is not even close to what she intends in raising this. 

She’s not seeking his forgiveness.

Some things are unforgiveable.

She just needs him to know the truth of it; for him to be fully informed of all the heinous details of that one _soul destroying_ moment... so that they’re not rebuilding this friendship back up on lies.

Past history has proved more than adequately that secrets don't stay buried. She can't take the risk of waking only to discover that he's found the truth from some other source, of watching as the disgust takes over his eyes, as he turns his back, casts her out - 

“Melinda, do you hear me?” his firm voice drags her back to the present from where her thoughts have wandered unsettlingly. She usually has more control than that. “We are not doing this. In fact, we don’t even need to talk about Bahrain-”

She’s not surprised that her derisive snort interrupts him mid-flow. He’s been trying for years to get her to talk about what happened – to Drew, to friends, to colleagues, to family, to professionals, never mind to him - he who never seems to fit comfortably in to any one slot. 

She hadn't wanted to talk back then. She still doesn't even now if she's honest with herself. But she needs him to know the truth. She can't silence the part of her worries that when he knows it all, that then he’ll truly see her for the monster that she is and he won’t want her around. Better to rip off the band aid, to get that over and done with now than to go on forever wondering if this is the last night she spends at home, if this is the last conversation she has with the colleagues that have become her family, if this is the last stupid joke that Phil is going to tell her with that straight face and the sparkle in his eye that says he knows just how bad the joke is but that he’s going to say it anyway and she’s STILL going to be trying not to smile! Damn him.

"If I’m coming back then you need to know the truth about what happened in Bahrain."

"I don’t need to know what happened. I know you." It's a nice sentiment sure - but that's not the way life works.

"Phil-" she chides him and he waves her off casually as though that will have any effect. She sighs. “We need to talk about it, Phil,” she tries to say in a professionally calm voice but from the way his eyes narrow, face morphing in to concern, he can hear the pained exhaustion lacing her tone.

“We really don’t. 'It was her or everyone else,' that’s enough. You don’t have to relive it for my sake. You just need to come back. We’ll go on as we always have. I’ll talk too much and you’ll scowl. I’ll makes bad jokes and you’ll smile for an instant – oh yes I’m on to you – then you’ll scowl. I’ll-”

“Phil,” she chides him gain. She appreciates the attempt at levity, she does, but he's not distracting her so easily and underneath the humour he knows it.

The sigh that follows confirms his acceptance of that fact. He looks as worn by this as she feels but she dare not leave this out and let them walk away now. She might never get up the courage to address it again and then how the hell can they ever trust each other? 

“I...” He deserves to know the truth of what happened and she needs to be the one to tell him. "I need to tell you." This secret cannot remain unknown. The lies cannot continue as they threaten to destroy them. If she doesn't do this... then how can she ever come back? "You need to know the truth." Secrets don't stay buried forever. He deserves to know now, so that he can make an informed decision - stay or go. Better to leave now, before she gets comfortable, before she has to break her heart and leave them all over again. She can’t have the fear hanging over her constantly. “I can’t... I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay but worrying every morning that this might be the day you find out the truth and drive me out in disgust.” She’s not sure which of her thoughts somehow make it out of her mouth, she’s not paying enough attention, but their impact upon him is obvious when she looks back up to find his eyes.

The palm of his hand catches her cheek gently redirecting her eyes up to his. That she’s been unaware of his approach should probably concern her. She’s not all here, she’s losing touch with reality, she should be better than this! She steps back away quickly, a harsh drag of her arm across her face to clear the blurriness from her vision. Focus. That’s what she needs: focus.

She focuses on the way his eyebrows raise in silent surprise, in question at her for resisting his gesture of comfort but she needs his comfort so badly that she daren’t give in to the temptation. She’d lose herself for good if he dashed her down asunder after succumbing so deeply. She needs to maintain distance, needs to say the words, tell him the truth and get the hell out of dodge before his harsh words can tear her tentatively constructed world apart.

“There’s nothing you can say, nothing you could have ever done, that would make me cast you out,” his words are insistent, but she can’t just believe him on a tone when history tells otherwise. 

"You did," she says simply and tries to in vain to keep the hurt from her voice.

x

Phil  
He’s no idea where this doubt is coming from – he’s always wanted her, always needed her. He’s spent decades as her friend and even longer as a trusted colleague. Doesn’t she know him well enough by now? He’d never be able to cast her aside, never throw her ou –

"You did," she says simply and her expression closes immediately thereafter, denies him even an echo of the pain she must be feeling at such betrayal.

Fuck.

The guilt hits him far harder than any punches she could have thrown. A bitter taste rising in his stomach as he recalls last year. Her stricken face, so tightly controlled, mask held in place just barely to a plausible attempt at indifferent unconcern as he told her they weren’t friends, shouted at her to leave, drove her out with harsh words she didn’t deserve. He’d lashed out. Hurt her so deeply. All from behind his self-righteous shield of pain, firing bullet after bullet in to her simply because she gave him a target for his anger. She never even flinched.

It was only after she was gone he realised how true a friend she’d been.

How her actions had been out of care for him. Then, even after he’d driven her away, how she devoted herself to finding answers for him, to help him from afar, calling in favours with Hill and who knows who else to back him up when he wouldn’t accept anything from her. He can’t ever make that up to her but damn it he’s going to keep trying for the rest of his life if she lets him. “Melinda, I am so sorry about all of that. I-“

“That's in the past,” her simply words don’t even cut to the heart of it.

“No, no, don’t you dare brush me off! I hurt you. I said... unforgiveable things to you. I drove you away with harsh words and even harsher actions. I belittled... _everything_ you do here, everything that you do for me. Everything you _had done_ just to protect me. God, Melinda! You went back into the field for me! Combat ops because I pushed you to it! You- you – I _made_ you do so much – so many things you had sworn never to do again. All because I didn’t know and I thought that I was helping and damn it Melinda on our first mission you were knocked out. Our second you had to pick up a handgun again! I- Gods – I am so so sorry. I can’t even-”

Fuck! She’s hit him. To say it hurts is a drastic understatement.

He’s pretty sure that it was intended to shut him up more than to hurt him - she’s always been more frustrated by his rambling than anything else. Still hurts the same. That she’s rubbing at her knuckles and flexing out her fingers in turn tells of the force she used. He hopes she hasn't hurt herself too badly for his sake. She's already let him hurt her too much.

He’s still blinking slowly trying to get his thoughts in order when she lets out the snort of almost laughter, “taken twenty years but I’ve finally worked out how to shut you up.”

He’d find it humorous too... if he wasn’t still trying to very hard to convince his body that the room was not spinning, he did not need to hold on to the ground and there was no reason to consider embarrassing himself by introducing her to this morning’s breakfast.

 

x

Melinda  
"And I'm not talking about when Hydra rose," she refuses to say 'Shield fell' no matter how the two intertwined, "and I left to find answers-"

"Sending Maria who pretty much kicked my ass for you - thanks for that by the way."

"After the battle on the Illiad," she interrupts before he can side track her again. "You found out and you sent me away."

"What? No, I didn't," his voice even sounds sort of surprised. But he’s always been able to use his voice like that. It doesn’t mean he’s actually surprised. Just that he’s feigning surprise to try to manipulate the response he wants. That’s probably too harsh. He’s doing it to be kind, to try to protect her feelings even now but it's not the truth. She knows better than to believe his honest sounding words or softly pleading eyes. 

"I understand why you did-"

"I didn't-" he interrupts again but she knows better than to let him finish the untruth.

"I don’t blame you Phil. Hearing that I – I don’t blame you for wanting me away from here. Away from Shield." Away from Daisy, her mind adds, far away from their impromptu little family before she corrupts them too.

"I don't want you away-" and she'd thought they'd gotten past the lies.

"I know that you need me back-" she does and she wants to help, she does. If he needs her back then she’s back, helping him manage the situation, helping him to protect their team. _His_ team. She can still be useful even if he can't accept what she has done. Hell! She can't accept what she has done, why should he be any more able to do so.

"I do-" he agrees, she knew he would. A weapon is always useful.

"For right now, you're shorthanded. Facing Hydra and this inhuman transformation problem you're struggling to get on top of with limited resources and manpower."

"I-"

"But I can't," her voice breaks, failing her. "I can't do this. I can't just come back and wait for you to chase me away again. I can't. I can't return only to... I- I'm not strong enough." The admission out loud nearly makes her falter. She’s too weak for this. Too pathetically fragile. Too close to tears. Too close to breaking. Splintering glass too close to shattering apart.

"Melinda-"

"It's okay. I- I understand and I- I don't expect forgiveness or for you to pretend but I need to know that you know everything about what happened. I need to know that you're not just taking me on to send me away again. I -"

She ducks from instinct alone, words cut off mid-flow so suddenly she could have bitten off her tongue. Adrenaline spikes as the harsh crash of metal upon metal sounds the collision of the projectile with the weight machines behind her position. She rises from the crouch warily, both eyes fixed upon the lightly quivering mass of fury made in to human form that is standing armless a few meters away. 

Danger!

Her senses scream at her to run. To retreat. Flee. 

She stands rigid anyway, holds herself firm, won’t allow herself to flinch away from whatever he has to say in the here and now. No matter how much it might hurt. She deserves it. 

"Melinda... You are an idiot."

She stops fighting herself in dumbfounded silence. Freezes. Hardly dares raise her eyes to look at him with the question that's raging throughout her mind. She tries to hold his eyes across the seemingly insurmountable distance of a few meters of matting of the enclosed gym but her guilt eats away until his silent regard is almost more than she can bear.

"I didn't send you away," he says, tone clipped, unreasonably angry and unwilling to hide it from her any longer. She deserves his anger but she is not prepared to accept the lie, not now when she's opening herself, when she's trying so hard to share this truth.

"‘If you see my face on the base by morning then you’ll escort me out the front door yourself,’" she repeats what he said at the time word for word almost in a whisper. She'd much rather just believe the comforting lie.

"You’re a nightmare to get to take a holiday, you know that right? Three years and you’ve never taken so much as a day off to yourself," his voice is quiet. Control re-established. He never loses it for very long. He pauses, waits intentionally to let her mind consider that idea for a few minutes in the silence. 

It's a convenient excuse. Too convenient for her to just accept.

"You wanted me gone, handed me off to my ex-husband like a broken toy you didn’t want any more," she eventually tells the floor beneath his feet because she can't face finding the truth that might linger in his eyes. She’s broken. Nearly broken, she revises. Too fragile by half.

She’s a coward.

He steps forwards and she forces herself not to run. Forces herself to hold her place, stranded alone in a too cold room, hurting even as he turns sharply furious eyes upon her. He's animated with the force of his anger. She's not going to run from that. She deserves that and so much more. His finger raised between them like a rapier warning her not to attempt to close the distance, not to move, not to say _anything_ to incite attack. 

She doesn’t. She deserves whatever’s coming.

 

X

 

Phil  
"Firstly," his mouth shapes around the word in disgust as his arm raises that warning finger, turning away briefly with a visible effort to get himself under control. "Firstly," he repeats turning back to face her no less furious but controlled, shaking lightly with such control. "I never EVER handed you off to Andrew," he sounds out each word slowly, emphasising each as though simply by speaking the words he can write them directly into her thoughts. He'd never have sent her away. Certainly not back to her ex-husband. His heart had nearly broken when he’d heard about it – from Daisy. That she hadn’t told him personally had been another crack in the wall.

"Andrew-" she starts quietly but she's already had her chance. She's said her piece. It's his turn now. She'll listen without interrupting if he has to tie her down and gag her to make her stay and hear him out. He's not losing her over misunderstood words. Not this time.

" _Doctor_ Garner said you needed time off," he states bluntly. "I made it happen." For her. Because she needed time off. Because she'd been through so much. He'd put her through so much. The least he could do was give her two weeks break. "I bought tickets," he says with a half laugh at the trouble he'd gone through trying to book tickets online himself rather than delegating a task that he'd decided was important enough for him to do himself.

"Tickets. Plural – me and Drew," she says immediately but she's listening. It's a start. 

"Tickets. Plural. There and back," he corrects her before she's even finished speaking, pinning her with a look, desperate that she see his sincerity. He's hopeful. The wet tears and devastation across her face have gone, replaced by a cautious concern. She's hearing what he says. "I certainly did not buy _him_ a ticket to go on holiday with you. And if he’s put it on Shield’s tab then we are going to be having words, dear Doctor Garner and I, very soon." They'll be having words anyway – very, very soon!

"And secondly?" she says after a moment to let the idea sink in.

He swallows, then jumps off the metaphorical cliff anyway. Grabs for her wrist to bring her closer and to prevent her from running away. His eyes find and hold her hurting ones, plead with her to believe him on this if nothing else. "Secondly, you are not a broken toy... and I always want you."

 

She scoffs shallowly at his would be love declaration and he's lost. A part of him knew better than to think she would just fall in to his arms and all would be magically perfect. The world doesn't work that way. He can feel the anger rising inside of him like it's a separate entity he could touch and hold and... possibly exert some control upon. He knows its underlying cause is fear. Frustration and fear.

_He might lose her over this._

Her disbelief is obvious and he might not be able to convince her to stay through words alone but he's nothing more than words to give! Words. They've always been his protection - shield and weapon both - but so much more than that. Words alone can destroy, words can re-build, words can create understanding, pass on knowledge, grant freedom and create lasting peace. Words... words are everything... 

And yet here he stands with no words to save him, no words that he can find to make her believe him, to make her stay and give him chance to earn back her trust. 

"Please, believe me Melinda," he begs but he knows it's futile from the rigidity of her posture even before she replies.

"I don't."

Words have never failed him so absolutely before.

 

x

 

"Argh!" The wordless sound of utter frustration leaves him and he storms past her to collect his arm simply because it gives him a task he can do, something he can complete when he cannot seem to do anything to stop her from leaving him again. Leaving _Shield_ again.

"It's okay that you sent me away, Phil," she says monotone, her voice so bland it almost physically hurts him to hear how they devolved back to this careful hiding from one another once more. After everything they've been through, all that they've seemingly sorted between them... still they are hiding and hurting and _lying_ to each with their voices and their expressions and - fuck it!

Frustration lends urgency to his movements as he crosses the gym to stand directly in front of her. That she half reacts to raise her arms in defence before dropping them to her sides and avoiding his gaze shouldn't bother him as much as it does. 

"Melinda be rational! WHY would I send you away?!" He's shouting as she flinches, her shoulders rounding as though expecting a blow. It makes him feel sick.

"Bahrain," she tells the floor in a whisper. She's never looked small to him before. He knows that factually she's small but she's never _looked_ any different to him. He's never looked and thought 'fragile'. He's terrified for them both when he thinks that now. Fear makes him rash, makes him panicked, makes him a blunt hammer smashing down words upon them both and not the fine rapier intended. So be it. He'll break down every shield she erects and force her to believe him! 

"Oh for crying out loud! It happened YEARS ago! You don’t think that if I had a problem with you I’d have done something a little sooner?!" He's unable to keep still, unable to stand there whilst she refuses to even look at him, unable to hold himself back from hitting something, anything!

"Dais-"

"Said the girl was inhuman. Okay. Fine. She was inhuman. So what, Melinda?! What? Suddenly I’m supposed to want you gone because she was inhuman instead of just a bog standard ordinary human? You really think I give a flying fuck whether she had amazing super powers or not?!" He spins and lashes out - the door panel gives a satisfying crunch beneath his fist and a small spark ignites only to fizzle out less than dramatically within moments. 

He feels hollow as he watches the panel fade and go dark. 

The violence has served one purpose at least – with the door broken she cannot just run away again.

 

x

Melinda  
He's so angry that she's almost tempted to call a halt to all of this - he'd hate himself forever if he caused her lasting damage. The way the panel flutters and dies makes clear that walking away from this... conversation... is no longer an option.

He stands there. Mere meters away that might as well be miles. Bare feet upon the crinkling mats. She'd noticed when he'd removed them that he'd not been wearing his character socks anymore. He loved the little quirk of those socks - saw them as his minor rebellion against the establishment. She'd bought him a pair most christmases. The others had cottoned on to the idea too. He must have hundreds by now but he could tell you immediately who bought him which pair and why. The plain black socks tucked neatly in to his shoes hurt more than she can explain.

That his tie is absent is another concern to add to her ever growing list. It's been six months and yet he's not found a work around to tie his windsor. Instead he's just given up. That is not the Phil Coulson she knows. It's the response of a defeated man.

His shirt is sweat-dampened and slightly askew. Three buttons have been lost in their scuffles. There's none of his usual neatly ironed perfection.

She’s done this to him, comes the thought on the trail of the guilt. She's broken him.

She approaches him warily. Intimately cognisant that she's the only real target for his fists in this room. The pain from her side flares with her recognition of it. She halts at what should be a safe distance.

"I also told you I killed her," she says quietly and watches him carefully for his reaction. He's an explosion about to go off, obliterate everything in its path, a ticking time bomb she doesn't know how to disarm. 

He turns suddenly to face her and she backs up, her feet dancing a retreat she hasn't consciously ordered as they try to shift her out of range of the expected blast. 

"I ALREADY KNEW!" he screams it at her and she's stunned. 

It makes no sense. It's a kick to the gut. She can’t breathe. She can't- "What?" It's the barest whisper of escaping breath.

She's lost in the waves of her own mind. Divorced from the world as he nears her position slowly, tentatively. Like maybe she's the one about to explode and kill the all. Maybe she is. She doesn't know. She doesn't seem to know much of anything right now. 

"Was that really what you were worried about?" his voice filters in to her thoughts cautiously. She doesn't find the answers in her mind to give to him but he finds them somewhere for himself. "Melinda..."

"I never said," she whispers, finally finding some words to say, a question as much as a statement. Her eyes search his face frantically hoping for the truth and he doesn't hide any of the pain of his expression or the compassion in his eyes.

"You didn’t have to. Your reaction was enough. Melinda... we’ve both had losses in situations like that: agents, non-combatants, kids. But Bahrain... Bahrain threw you." It had destroyed her.

"You never said," her voice is hoarse, clogged, close to tears she won’t shed.

"I tried to talk to you... more than a few times as I recall," his chuckle is forced, not even a little part of it honestly finding humour in the situation. She’d shut him out. She’d shut everyone out. Emotionally and then when they wouldn’t leave well enough alone she’d resorted to physically locking herself away from them. "You didn’t want to talk to any of us." Times they’d tried. Natasha of all of them had gotten the closest – but actually attacking her, tying her down and drugging her weren’t exactly things that Phil Coulson would ever countenance even if he'd had the skill set to be able to pull it off.

"You were persistent," she acknowledges ruefully.

"You were frustrating," he says simply and that understatement almost drags a smile out of her. Oh he’d eventually worked it out – if he didn’t speak at all about anything to do with Bahrain or her or missions in general then she didn’t leave and she didn’t kick him out of the room. There had been a great deal of trial and error before he’d caught on to her few requirements.

She swallows suddenly serious again. "You should have given up."

"Huh? Just like you gave up when I died? Or when I shot you-"

"-ICER-"

"-and handcuffed you and accused you of being Hydra? Or how about when I was going crazy and carving in to anything I could find? Or even when-"

"-you’ve made your point."

His eyes catch and hold hers – intently. "Have I?"

Hers drop and she swallows.

His hand catches her chin, cups her cheek redirecting hesitant eyes back up to his own. He holds her gaze as though by force of will alone he can make the words penetrate deep in to her thoughts. "We are not giving up on each other." 

 

x

 

"If you didn't send me away..." her hesitation probably gives away that she still doesn't believe it. It’s too easy a solution. Too good to be true. She's learned that lesson the hard way before. His story doesn't add up. It rings of truth - but he's good at that. And there's a gaping hole that she needs him to resolve before she can even pretend that he didn't really send her away. "If you didn't want me gone... why didn't you bring me back?"

He pulls her in closer, arms wrapping her back into a hug that she doesn't want to resist even as she knows it's just a play for time, just a distraction to let his mind work up a better story he can sell her. He tightens his grasp for a moment that doesn't last anywhere near long enough, bending his head down low over her shoulder thoroughly encompassing her. She can feel his breath on her hair, his lips to the top of her head before he settles with his chin in place there, her head tucked in beneath. Their position is a mockery of safety and security that she doesn't care to undermine. She wants to feel safe in his arms.

"I thought you left," he says raggedly, exhaustion and emotions draining his voice to a gravelly mockery of his usual tone. "I thought you'd had enough. That you'd gone because you couldn't take it anymore." His arms seem to be beyond his control as they squeeze down hard, as though he can prevent her leaving again if he just holds on tightly enough. Tightly enough that it hurts. She bites her already abused lip to prevent herself crying out. She doesn't care that it hurts. She doesn't want him to let go. Not even a little bit. A little bit is exactly the amount he releases her, relaxing his grip enough that she can breathe without her ribs complaining. 

"I'd lied to you. So much. Hurt you."

"Forgiven," she repeats, praying that he'll hear the whispered word she speaks directly to his heart.

"Then Daisy-"

"Don't," she interrupts him quietly. She's not ready to talk about that. Not with him. Not when she hasn't reconciled it all in her own mind. Not when she still can't decide if she can forgive or... 

"Betrayed us. Fought you. Hurt you." The man never god damn listens!

"She had her reasons," she justifies it more forcefully. She must have had reasons. She's young. Desperate. She's always wanted a family and there suddenly, magically, they were. Inhuman just like her. Living in a fantasy paradise. Part of her thinks the girl should have seen the obvious, should have understood it was too good to be true, should have at the very least stayed loyal to Shield, to them! They'd given her a fucking family! It just wasn't good enough! Another part tells her not to be so hard on the kid, to - 

"Reasons don't make it hurt much less," he says and she knows he's hearing her quiet words, listening carefully for her every breath of response. She says nothing because she agrees - it had hurt despite the reasons, despite her understanding, despite her attempts to search herself for forgiveness.

"Bobbi nearly died. You nearly had to watch her bleed out."

She swallows at the lingering smell of blood on both of them, too immediate a reminder of that memory. That had been a really bad day. For them all. She'd wished more than once to have been the recipient of Ward's anger that day. Bobbi had not deserved his wrath. Then she had nearly died. In a stupid attempt at self-sacrifice to save one of them. It could have been any of them opening that door. Bobbi had been willing to take the bullet for any of them. To die for any of them. To die for her. She didn't deserve that. 

She should have taken out Ward. A monster to defeat a monster.

"You saw Hunter... at her bedside... every day. You saw him hurting. Broken. Because he cared." The implication is there for her to read, the accusation that if she left then she didn't care, didn't have to care, could protect herself from being hurt again simply by walking away before it happened.

"And then there's me." Him? "I got hurt." Don't they always? He survived, that's what's important. "My hand-" then it's his voice breaking, his tongue struggling to find the words past the lump in his throat. She clamps her arms around him tighter, pulls herself to snuggle in closer to him, the limited comfort she can offer, despite the pain in her side. She can't fix him, can't go back in time to be there for him, but she can give him this much, a poor substitute though it is. "When I... I'm sure you thought... sure you wondered 'what if?' What if Mack hadn't been there? Hadn't been fast enough? What if it hadn't stopped the progression? What if I'd died?" He pauses and she's certain it's in reaction to something she's done - some reaction she's unable to fully conceal. "Again." he adds and she can't bear to look at him, can hardly think past the pain so she simply holds on; prays that he'll drag her through this with him to the other side. 

"I couldn't force you through all that again. I couldn't. No. I _wouldn't_ put you through that again. I didn't want to hurt you again. Melinda, I never want to hurt you again."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't know what to feel even as she knows that her heart believes him. She clings tighter - it's not a reaction she can bring herself to control.

"I know, I know - we always hurt each other... but with you gone at least I knew you were safe, that I wouldn’t have to be the cause of your pain anymore, that you could be happy. You deserve to be happy, Melinda.”

She can hear the tears in his eyes in his choked off voice. They echo her own that she doesn't try to wipe away. She won't risk letting go.

 

x

_  
But he’s wrong._

_She doesn’t deserve happiness.  
_

x

 

She swallows. Forces her fingers to unclench, to release his crumpled shirt and back away to a distance she can cope with. “No,” she tells the floor beneath his feet simply. It’s not that simple. She can’t just accept a blanket forgiveness for all possible wrong doings. It’s not enough.

He doesn’t understand. He can’t. He doesn’t know the truth.

She forces her eyes to meet his but it’s hard. So hard to look and see. To register the pain in those depths. The pleading that can all too easily turn to hatred. “You don’t know really know what happened,” she growls in reflection of the monster she feels inside. “I have no illusions about deserving happiness.”

He seems to sense the change in her, the re-building of walls as she prepares herself for rejection. He releases her slowly, backs away and she misses his warmth already.

"You want to tell me about Bahrain now, that's fine. We can do that... but, Melinda, I want this clear: not a thing you say about what happened there is going to change my opinion of you... you’re my friend... and nothing you tell me is going to make a bit of difference to the fact that I want you back here." He's so certain of himself. So damned adamant that he's so forgiving that it makes her ache to prove him wrong.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she spits out at him.

"Okay," he says simply. Calmly. She knows it isn't him just giving up on it though - to her recollection he's never given up on anything he considers important. "Talk me through it then."

"I didn't come here for counselling."

"No..." he agrees easily enough, "you came here for a friend." 

She grimaces rather than try to parry words with him - she's practically unarmed against him when it comes to a battle of words. She succumbs to his manipulations far too easily every time. Always the plan up his sleeve, always the words to turn her mind, to trick her, cajole her, convince her, until she's so tied up in knots she doesn't know what she originally thought.

 

x

 

Phil  
"So... let me be a friend," he says gently. "Talk to me. Lets walk it through. Together." He half begs her to open up, knowing she needs to talk about it. Has needed to talk about it for years and he hasn't been able to get her to talk to him. Now he at least knows why - she never wanted him to know that the girl wasn't killed in the crossfire. He tries a last ditch attempt to convince her to talk - it's underhand playing on her weakness, on her need to find a solution that didn't involve killing the girl, but it's all he's got left other than falling to his knees begging her not to let this come between them again... and he's in no way convinced that latter would work anyway! "You've been over it right? Assessed and re-assessed your decision? Considered the possible alternatives if you were able to go back in time and do it all over again?"

Of course she has. She's tried a million and one ways. Lived through it over and again. Trying to find the solution. The right call. The option she should have taken. The ending she could have made happen.

"Maybe I can spot something you missed?" he says and watches as her body flinches at the hurt of his perceived attack even as her eyes flick up to him in hope. 

"I -" Her words seem to fail her suddenly. Dry mouth, lump in her throat, he knows the usual causes. "I don't even know where to start," she confesses and the anguish in her face breaks his heart all over again. Oh May. He really doesn't want to do this... He gulps, then charges ahead anyway.

“We start at the beginning,” he says and at his encouraging motions she closes her eyes, breathes deeply and tries to find the beginning amidst the chaotic storm of memories that signalled the end of ... _everything._

 

x

 

"I give you the go ahead and you enter through the south alley. It's hot. Dusty. The parched air burns the back of the throat and every breath tastes of grit," he talks her through it, leads her in to the memory from his own recollection. It'd been awful... even before everything went south. "We'd been on the ground around mid-day local time." She nods, swallows obviously then settles down on the ground, legs crossed in a position that tells of her flexibility. One he's no hope of mimicking though he does follow her down to sit on the mats across from her. Close enough to touch if only he could reach out to her. They might as well be miles apart.

"Agent Hart led us through the market place." At a pace designed more for chasing a fugitive than perusing the few stalls set up here and there. He remembers that he'd wanted to get a closer look at some of those stalls. She'd caught his gaze lingering mournfully, jostled his shoulder playfully and laughed at him. He'd told her jokingly that he wasn't going to buy her one when they stopped on the way back.

He hadn't bought her one. Why does that make him feel guilty now? He shakes his head to clear it. This isn't about him or his guilt. This is about trying to help a friend. Something he should have tried so much harder to do so much earlier...

He knew she was hurting, he knew there was something she was hiding, and yet he let it go every time she pushed him away. Every time she threw him out, he left. Every time she clamped down into sullen silence and refused to speak, he just talked at her, pretended she was talking back when he couldn't find a way to draw her in to conversation. Every time he tricked her in to opening up just a crack, she'd look at him liked he'd betrayed her and his heart would break all over again. Every time she walked away... he let her. He prayed she walked to Andrew. He prayed she _talked_ to Andrew. He let it go at that and he never should have.

"Phil?" her quiet voice echoes loudly in the stillness of the gym around them. Her enquiring eyes reflect concern for him and he gives her a small smile to confirm that he's alright, even if he isn't really. Neither of them are. Not really.

"Eva Belyakov," he takes up the narrative and is relieved when she closes her eyes, letting him off the hook this time. "35. Index candidate," he can repeat it word for word. It's indelibly engraved upon his memories. "A friendly chat to bring her in for evaluation." Oh how wrong he had been.

Her audible inhale is her only response to his words.

"We made the approach in public. Under the radar of the local militia." They hadn't wanted to scare Belyakov, hadn't wanted to exacerbate an already tense situation by cornering her in private, by appearing threatening. They hadn't known any better.

"It went south." It's an understatement. He knows that. An understatement and then some. "A local gang shot our informant. Took hostages-"

"No," she says the word so softly he almost misses it. He waits in silence for her to elaborate - it's the best interrogation technique he was ever taught. Patience. "Katya, took hostages," she says eventually and it raises a whole shit load of questions he knows she won't want to answer. He sidelines it, sticks it forcibly out of the reach of his immediate thoughts to come back to later, and forces himself to continue on.

"Agent O'Brien was taken. Our back up went in." The stormtroopers, she'd called them back then. She'd laughed at them terming themselves the cavalry. Teased that they weren't all that impressive - that they were foot soldiers, clones in black with barely an original thought between them. 

"Friendly fire and we'd lost contact." He can still hear the panicked voices, distorted by the radios they were using, crying out in confusion. The whole unit swallowed up in a matter of minutes. He hadn't been in command but he'd still felt like they'd been lost on his watch.

"I authorised your entry," he forced out slightly choked. His orders had been to wait. Maybe if he'd followed those orders, she wouldn't have had to...

 

x

 

Melinda  
That he's struggling to go back through this mission with her is obvious simply from the pain he doesn't bother to try to hide in his voice. She never wanted to put him through this again. She never wanted him to have to relive it the way she does every night.

He gave the order authorising her entry because of her.

"I convinced you I could handle it," she says shortly.

"It was my order," he says and his responsibility she hears unsaid. There's more than enough blame to go around but she will not have him shoulder an unfair portion.

"I would have gone in anyway," she tells him but... honestly... she's not sure that she would. She trusted him, probably even more back then than she does now. If he'd said they wait, she would... probably... have waited.

She takes up the narrative when he makes to argue it further, "I went in through the south alley." She'd called Drew. He'd been so excited about a family. They both had been. Before...

"How?" he's quick to jump on the slight pause as she falls back in to the recollection.

It draws her back to the wall before her eyes. Sand coloured rough stone. Numerous protrusions making even the wall itself a simply climb. The additional protrusions make it a cakewalk. "Air con unit. Balcony. Unlocked door," she reports factually.

"Through the door then..." he leads her but he's not in her memory. He doesn't know that he's wrong. She can't just go in.

"No, one hostile. Wait until he passes the doorway. Choke hold. Fights it. Knee to the side of head. Unconscious. Threat nullified." Factual. Straight forward. Maybe if she can keep to this she can keep going.

"You continue..."

"Door to the right," she confirms.

"Open it..."

"Agent Hart."

"You found the hostages - good."

"Not good," she correct him. "Hart attacks."

"What?"

"He unholsters his glock, raises it to shoot-"

"He shot at you?!"

"Countered. Disarmed. Put him to a wall."

"And?"

"Other agents in the room. Hostages. Zombies."

"Zom-?!"

"O'Brien saying I want your pain. Then the others. Over and again. A puppet but stuck on repeat."

"Did the others try to shoot you too?"

"No." Revises that. "Not yet."

"What did you do?"

"Retreat. Ties from Hart's vest. Secured the door on exit." She hears the bullets thwap through the wood as though she was actually there. Her body flinching in a reaction he won't fail to miss.

"May?"

"They shot at the door. Three bullets - head, chest, stomach."

"Kill shots?"

Yes, she thinks. "Probably," she says.

"And?"

"Retreat."

"You didn't retreat though..."

"Find Belyakov. End the mindfuck."

"It's a good plan," his voice says but she knows it wasn't. It was a stupidly reckless plan. She didn't even know Belyakov was the cause. She didn't have enough intel. She didn't have back up. She shouldn't have gone forwards so lacking. She should have retreated, reassessed. She should have- "Proceed, Agent May."

"Two hostiles on the stairs to take down. Miscalculation with hostile two - take down is too loud. Hostiles must be aware of an intruder. The target is ready when I enter the next room. Fail to check to the right before entry. Attack from behind with the element of surprise." She feels the blow as it breaks her cheekbone. The sudden strike stunning her with surprise almost as much as pain as she flies across the room to land in a defenceless heap.

"...and?"

She's airborne for an instant. Then falling with painful consequences. Hitting the ground hard. Mind spinning. Nauseated. It takes her too long to recover, too long to drag her mind back, to clock the external stimuli and react.

"...Melinda?"

"A blow to the head takes too long to recover from," she says eventually.

"You're hurt?" there's concern lacing his voice but she can't address that right now. She can't get through this if they're doing emotions, if he's comforting, supportive, she'll break down before they ever get anywhere. She sticks to the report. Sticks to the facts.

"I take the target down." 

"but you're injured?" he presses.

She nods in response - it's all she can give when her mind is already fast forwarding to what happens next, when her stomach is already recoiling at the thought.

"Report," he demands sharply and it jolts her in to a response.

"Gunshot to the right knee - no longer supportive, forehead wound - blood obscuring sight, bruised ribs-"

"- they were broken Melinda -"

"- liability if hit. Slowing reaction time. Reduced reach. Broken cheekbone - distracting. Numerous minor wounds."

"Sum up: you're in pain, not mobile and close combat is not an option?"

"I was fine."

"With your injuries, on a fellow agent-" he doesn't even need to finish the question; she knows what he's getting at. 

"Fine! I was not combat ready,” it’s said grudgingly. “But I didn't exactly have many options."

"Where's the girl through all this, Melinda?" he asks her quietly. They've gotten so far and he daren't scare her off with questions too pointed, too demanding of her. “Is she in the room with you?”

She sniffles before she answers, the barest of whispers he has to lean in closer to hear. "I told her to hide. To stay safe."

"And she didn't?" he makes the educated leap from the pieces she's told him, from what Daisy disclosed. The end result he saw with his own eyes.

"She came out after it was all over. She..." he watches her throat as she stalls, swallowing heavily as though the gulps back a lump in her throat, a threat of nausea.

“She was inhuman,” he interrupts, confirms what Daisy had disclosed to him gently. It calls her on her lie of omission. She’d never said before. Not to any of them. Never disclosed that tiny little – crucial – piece of the puzzle. It didn’t add anything to her tale and some small part of her wanted to let the girl rest peacefully, her body undisturbed by the likely testing and experimentation that disclosure would likely have drawn. “The little girl,” he continues like there was any doubt to which of them he was referring.

“Katya,” she breathes out on an exhale despite her intent to stay silent. No longer the nameless little girl in her mind. Daisy had cleared that much up too. Katya. Such an innocent name for an innocent child.

“Katya,” he echoes her in agreement. “She was inhuman,” he continues back on track.

“Yes,” the word is drawn from her lips on a whisper of a breath.

“Powerful?” he queries lightly.

The shudder that wracks her frame, tingling down her spine uncontrolled, answers far more that question than her quiet assent.

“She hurt you?” he questions and she’s horrified on Katya’s behalf at the thought as she denies it firmly. Katya never hurt her. She was a child! Getting hurt she could have dealt with. Par for the course.

“Attacked you?” he pushes more carefully.

“No,” she answers with a voice far stronger than she feels at this impromptu trek down memory lane to a destination she doesn’t want-

“Threatened others,” he doesn’t ask. He confirms for himself out loud with a nod of apparent understanding. And maybe he does. He knows the rules. The reasons. Protection. It’s what Shield stands for, it’s everything they as agents ought to embody. Protection.

“You couldn’t contain the situation,” he states the fact but she answers affirmative anyway. His voice alone commands her responses, as if maybe, just maybe, by answering his questions she will get out of this alive and whole.

“She posed an imminent threat to life,” he says as though he was actually there in the room with them. She can see it all again now. Vividly. She can smell the heat and dust. Taste the bitter blood. See the small outstretched hand. Little fingers with smooth, pale skin, fingernails bitten low with a bit of dirt beneath, faint impressions from metal chain-links of a swing-set in her palms. A child’s hand etched clearer in her memory than her own scarred weapons.

“She posed an imminent threat to life,” he repeats or maybe her mind just holds that on repeat inside her head. She sees those beautiful eyes, so wide, so innocent. Pleading with her. Begging her.

“She posed an imminent threat to life.” The child’s hand reaching outstretched towards her as she advances. Closing the distance between them. The flash of thought recalled – the need for physical contact – and on the heels of that thought the panic that that delicate little hand is so close.

The waft of a careless gesture and the collapse of bodies to the floor behind her. Death. So senseless.

She can taste the bitterness of her own fear in the back of her throat.

The little hand is so close. 

Her fumbling attempt at retreat.

Words falling, tumbling, nonsense out of her mouth. Words always fail her.

“She posed an imminent threat to life.” Her agents. Bumbling in. Controlled. Threatened!

The desperation as she looked up in to those clear young eyes and found flint. The lips stretched wide in to a smile so unnatural, so out of place. A monster looking back at her from behind the face of a child.

“She posed an imminent threat to life.” Her hand landing on the unmistakeable cool of gunmetal. The realisation. The hesitation. 

“Melinda?”

Had she pulled the trigger then? 

"Melinda?"

Did she make the decision to kill in that split second? Or in the second after she found out-

His cool hand upon hers interrupts her. “Talk to me, Mel.”

...

"What happened?"

...

What happened? Only _everything._

 

 

 

x


	17. Chapter 17 - Bahrain Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her eyes had glued to that tiny child’s hand, tracing each and every innocent imprint from the lightly rusting chain links of an old swing. Her pulse in her throat, adrenaline high, fear more than pain freezing her in place. The cool weight of the revolver in her palm and the pure knowledge of how to end all of this. There was confusion, chaos, and then perfect clarity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here we are... my recommendation is that you go back, re-read this thing from the beginning. Struggle through all of the angst they've suffered, fight with them all through the pain, then read these next two chapters as you get back here. Get the full effect of everything... 
> 
> And thank you for joining me on the journey through all of this. Wow has this fic been a ringer.

Chapter 17 - Bahrain Part 2

 

_What happened? Only _everything_._

_Her eyes had glued to that tiny child’s hand, tracing each and every innocent imprint from the lightly rusting chain links of an old swing. Her pulse in her throat, adrenaline high, fear more than pain freezing her in place. The cool weight of the revolver in her palm and the pure knowledge of how to end all of this. There was confusion, chaos, and then perfect clarity._

_She touched her hand to the gun and for an instant..._

_...everything was perfect._

__  
_She_ was perfect.

Katya.

Her daughter.

The innocent laughter in her ears draws a smile to her face even now. She'd watched as the girl had skipped through the gardens, short grass springing back up in her wake as though her footsteps were as light as air. The giant trees filtering the sun's rays causing a scattering patterning across her face as she danced innocently. Carefree as a child should be as she played beneath the bows. Unaware of the cruelties of the world.

"I was so happy."

She'd sat on the porch of the small cottage. Nothing too grand, nothing too big, just enough room for them to be happy, just enough to be perfect.

"I couldn't stop smiling."

She'd listened to the birds in the trees, their sweet song a delight her ears hadn't heard for years bunked in concrete Shield bases. She'd smelled the blossoming flowers on a sweet summer breeze, the results of miles and miles of flowering hillsides uninterrupted by the destruction that followed in humanity's wake. 

"Everywhere was so beautiful."

She'd chased butterflies, giggling with glee as they fluttered and flew, ducking and diving. They'd no desire to capture one, but to dance and play with their beauty was a delight she couldn't help but share in once her daughter asked her to join in. They dispersed too high into the glorious blue skies within minutes but the exhilaration had pervaded for what felt like hours. 

They'd picnicked on the lawns and laughingly retreated back to the porch when a plethora of unafraid wildlife had soon invaded in search of food for their growing young.

They'd thrown a swing over the highest of branches she could reach and very soon thereafter secured a second so that they could almost fly up to in to the clouds together. Every swing taking them higher and closer.

But the happiest moments... the best of moments... she'd take a minute just to sit and watch. To watch as her daughter lived. To watch as she enjoyed life. As she smiled and played and frolicked and laughed. Such innocent enjoyment of life.

Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest it overflowed with such love.

"It was as though love were a tangible thing I could pick up and hold."

“It all sounds too good to be true,” his voice is unwelcome in her thoughts. It drags the smile from her lips, drags her back from happiness to devastating fear.

She swallows deeply trying to find any words to reply because it had been far too good to be true.

The fear like almost memories intruded upon the perfect mirage. Images, thoughts, feelings she could almost recollect, like flashes from a film seen so many years ago. She could push them away, conveniently forget... maybe she did forget in that dream world of perfect there was no fear. Just a tentative worry; that the horrors are real, that this perfection is stained, tainted, drowned in blood... but she smiles again at a childish laugh and her concerns evaporate away as the brightness of the day chases back shadows she's not even sure are real.

She'd been stupid. Deliberately obtuse.

She hadn't wanted the dream to end.

"I was so happy," she pleads with anyone listening to understand.

She'd wanted to be happy.

"There's nothing wrong with being happy, Melinda," his confused yet empathetic voice is unwelcome in her ears. He doesn't belong here, not in this memory. He wasn't there. No, wait. He was. He _was_ there. Bahrain. She remembers...

She was on the floor. Dusty. Filthy. Dry. A parched throat through which she can barely croak a whisper. A throat over which she's screamed despite the pain. No, _because_ of the pain. Her leg - a gunshot, bullet lodged deep - that had definitely made her scream out loud, her chest stabs with every shallow breath, her head... she shakes her head as though she can shift the memory by the movement. The pain hadn't mattered then. She hadn't been interested in screaming. Nor in whispering. She'd been silent. Uninterested. Uninvolved. _Everything_ had been silent.

Except him. 

Phil. 

He'd tried to be silent.

Covertly creeping in to the rescue before back up could have had any chance to arrive. All alone. His head had never been as strong as his heart.

She’d heard as he’d entered through a door. The lightest clunk of the door lock's barrel sliding slowly back and dropping. The slightest creak as it's pushed open upon well used hinges. She’d prayed it was him almost as much as she’d prayed it wasn’t. The breath of fresher air passing across her face. She'd inhaled in relief... and that had been enough to get him noticed. To get him killed.

"She killed you."

She'd watched the others before him - Hart, O'Brien, Morgan, Sanchez - names matching faces blanked of all personality as they stumble in to the room and just .... 

drop. 

Gone.

Dead in an instant. In the blink of an eye. The flash of a thought. The smile of a little girl.

_In the smile of a little girl._

She'd felt each of their deaths keenly. Had screamed inside and felt the wetness of tears run rivers down her face, and despite the pain and the heartaches and the absolutely mortifying fear, she'd smiled back at the daughter that she loved.

But they had been as nothing to the heart wrenching despair that stabbed through her soul when Phil had been her victim. A breath of hope, an instant and he was gone. But still her daughter smiled and she smiled back through the tears and the fear and... she was just so happy.

She’d barely noticed the deaths that followed – specialists, coverts, some she’d known, some she’d trained, some she’d never known names but recognised faces. Small numbers. Then more. Individuals with an assassin's intent. It made no difference. She soon enough stopped remembering their names. Stopped counting. Stopped seeing their faces in dreams and nightmares. Stopped noticing.

She’d noticed Natasha. No, more than noticed. She’d killed Natasha. The flash of red hair no warning as her neck was caught, entrapped. Air restricted as cobra like arms wound their way around. The hurriedly whispered words pleading with her – not understanding that there was nothing with which to plead. A quick move and she’d turned the tables, held her in place for a split second longer than necessary for a daughter she couldn’t have loved more. A little girl's smile... then Natasha was no more either.

Clint was next. Running in to the fray all gun ho and no intent to survive. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He could take them all out from afar but once there was no Nat... and no Phil either to bring him back... well then there was no Clint. A flash of red, a scream she recognised instantly as her own and then there was no Clint anymore.

And she screamed and cried inside for them all but still smiled at her daughter as she sobbed silently and felt the overwhelming love suffocate the despair.

"She killed all of you."

Still she laughed with her daughter in the sunshine. Chased butterflies gleefully through the ancient trees, giggling and bright and filled with so much happiness and love her heart could overflow. 

She could sit forever on the perfect porch of the perfect home with the perfect daughter and smile and love and laugh and force away the thoughts of darkness and death that intrude upon her perfect heaven.

But a part of her stays sane. Stays awake. Ruins the constant happiness with recognition that this perfection cannot be real. That this happiness is too much, too good. That the reality could well be the dream and those unwelcome almost memories the reality.

That part of her thinks.

Thinks 'if'.

If a girl can sway with a touch. If a girl can kill with a thought. If she can delve deep inside their minds and force their compliance... or not even force. If she can sway them, assume control over their bodies and their minds. If she can use them to kill. If she can kill. _Wants_ to kill. Wants their pain...

_She wants all their pain._

She can still feel the cool weight of the revolver in her hand. 

A part of her thinks 'but what if'.

But what if she can stop it? But what if she can prevent all of the pain? But what if she can do something, anything, something just to make her stop? But what if she can save Phil?

 

She sits on the sun drenched porch, smells the blooming flowers on the slightest hint of a summer breeze, and smiles as she watched her daughter run and laugh and frolic and play... and she can still feel the metal in her sweated palm. She can hear the creak of the old oak as her daughter's laughter trills in time with cries of 'higher' and 'higher', the giggling rush as she swings faster and father, up in to the clouds and the bright blue of the skies until she knows it almost feels like she's flying.

"I couldn’t stop her." No, that's a lie. She could have. At any point. She could end all of this heavenly nightmare.

Her fingers twitch against solidity. Something real.

She feels the gun.

Feels the love.

Revels in the happiness.

She can cry.

And smile through all the tears.

...

... she can't take that shot.

She can't.

 

x

 

"What did you do, Melinda?" His voice, there's no hint of the accusation she feels in his voice, just cautiously coaxing her memories onwards where she fears to tread.

What did she do?

 

She did nothing.

Then she'd heard the gunshot. A deafening crack of remorse assaulting her ears.

She’d screamed out loud at the pain in her chest over a too sore throat and believed for an instant that she’d shot through the heart so great was the pain.

She’d felt the kickback. Lost sight of everything for a matter of seconds as she’d been thrown backwards to a filth covered floor by the force and her own unpreparedness. Thrown back in to the darkness of a basement she'd never left.

Then there’d been silence. For a heartbeat. For infinity.

The world had come rushing back in to focus. Clarity within the chaos of confusion.

Her first concern - her daughter. A small form laying strewn in the dust and dirt. A doll thrown carelessly. So quiet. So still. She can barely breathe. Doesn't dare to even think.

The pain slows her progress as she drags herself across the floor to that fragile little form. That she hesitates to reach out, that her hand hovers for a minute in the air above her daughter in absolute fear, she hates herself for that. Her daughter is dead and she daren't hold her. A single cry escapes her, of woe and suffering so complete, as though everything that she is could be curled up into a single sound and flung in to the heavens. 

She collapses, exhausted and spent to the ground as her eyes focus through the tears upon the smallest indentations on the smallest of palms. The innocence of a child's laugh mingling with bird song as she plays on the swing hits her like a freight train.

The loss blinds her of thought, of reason, or breath.

Utter devastation.

Her index finger reaches out across the distance to trace those lighter lines oh so gently. As though anything firmer might disturb her rest, wake her up. She's alight with a sob, reaching out immediately, dragging her daughter up in to the cradle of her arms. Holding tightly to her. If she never lets go...

 

x

 

"Melinda?"

"I shot her."

She doesn’t even know if she pulled the trigger before or after. 

If she pulled and then discovered the truth conveyed with a touch and regretted it immediately thereafter. Or if she’d known her daughter, felt the love and killed her anyway. How could she kill her daughter? What kind of monster - 

"I killed my daughter, Phil," she admits, voice breaking as she struggles to give sound to the words of her destruction.

"It wasn't real, Melinda," his is the voice of reason, of sense, and she agrees with him whole heartedly on the facts... but her heart says otherwise. Her heart knows the truth. She loved her daughter, loved her completely and absolutely. How could she kill her own daughter?

"It was real to me."

 

x


	18. Chapter 18 - The Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are the Shield, Melinda."

Chapter 18 - The Shield

 

"There were no other options, Melinda."

“There should have been another option!” she screams out loud. At him. At the world. There should have been another option. There should. No world should require an absolute. No world should require the murder of a child. A daughter. _Her_ daughter.

She’s replayed it so many times in her mind. She could have found the right words to convince her. She could have aimed to injure, maybe it would have been enough to make her hesitate, to listen. She could have found some way to incapacitate her, to render her unconscious without physically touching to choke her out. She could have... she should have...

But always the risk, always the excuses... and that little hand was so close. So very close.

If she’d hesitated would they all be dead now? If she’d somehow managed to find a way to force her body back to her feet, if she’d found some magical solution to contain her, would she still be alive? Could she have worked the impossible? Should she have tried? One little girl so confused. So dangerous. So deadly. Against the lives of everyone else in that building. 

Should she have taken the risk? 

For years she’s run the simulations in her mind. Hour after hour. Night after sleepless night. 

Was there another option she could have risked?

She _should_ have risked?

“She posed an imminent risk to life, Melinda,” those are his words that she hears repeated in her ears. He’s closed the distance until he’s almost upon her. Almost too close.

“There was no other option. You made the right call,” his words have the feel of truth. The strength of his belief behind them gives them weight. The absolute unshakeable certainty gives her pause.

“You don’t know that,” she snarls, spinning away from his too compassionate expression, unreasonably angry that he seeks to tell her. Because he can’t know! He can’t know when she doesn’t even know that herself!

“I do.” He doesn’t. He wasn’t-

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see.” The fight’s draining out of her, exhaustion and pain, so so much pain of decisions made wrong. Recriminations. Regrets. 

“I do know,” he shuts her down with his certainty. “Because I know _you._ ”

She snorts her rejection of that simple line of faith. They both know it isn't that simple. They knew Grant Ward - knew the agent he portrayed himself to be. They knew Bobbi and Mack - knew them until they were suddenly unveiled as spies within. They knew Skye - until she was suddenly inhuman, fighting against them. Until she suddenly became Daisy. 

He knows her well. He doesn't know her THAT well. She didn't even-

"I didn't even try."

"Try what? Try to bring her in unharmed? How could you, Melinda? When she could sway anyone's mind with a single touch. How could you take that risk?" Why does he keep asking questions when she has no answers to give him!

 

"She needed to be stopped, Melinda."

"No," her voice is a sob of denial she can't help.

"She touched you. Made you believe that she was your daughter in order to get you to protect her. She was controlling you," he phrases them as questions but there's no doubt in her mind that he already knows the answers even as he starts walking again. The words tumbling out of his mouth like thoughts he hasn't bothered to check before speaking. A monologue of ideas, of conclusions he reaches on nothing more than suppositions and assumptions from far too limited facts. "She killed some of them to make a point to you. To threaten that she could kill anyone she wanted. Specifically, she could kill the other agents if you didn't take her hand. Why would she bother asking you to touch her? Why not just touch you herself? She was afraid of you... She'd just seen you kill her mother. Seen you fight others and take them down too. She was afraid that you'd kill her if she got too close. So she had to convince you to take that step. She had to get you to stay your hand, to not attack her as she touched you even knowing that she could then kill you if she thought to do so. She... she threatened agents Hart and O'Brien. And the others. She threatened to kill them unless you touched her. She had a gun to their heads just as surely as if she was ready to pull the trigger." 

"No," she denies it even as her rational mind acknowledges the truth of his words.

He finally spins to face her, his mind already working through the same pathways hers has taken so many times. "You had to take her out," he concludes simply.

She sobs, head shaking in denial, but she can not look him in the eye as she breaks all over again.

"There are no other viable options, Melinda."

"There are," she insists brokenly because there must be. There has to be another option. No cruel world could require her to kill her daughter.

"Fine. Your options?" he demands. Orders. It snaps her back in to focus with an immediacy that hurts as her body jerks in sympathy with her thoughts.

"I don't know," she says, plays for time. She'd tried playing for time back then too.

"You do know, Melinda. You just don't want to go through them with me," he calls her on it simply. Her playing for time hadn't worked any better back then either. 

"Play for time," she says because he demands an answer and whatever he is to her he remains her superior officer even now.

"How much time do you have?"

"Minutes. Seconds."

"Or she'll kill an agent?" No. That hadn't been her primary concern. It should have been. But she'd been more selfishly concerned for herself at the time. The fear was for her own safety. To avoid being touched. To avoid becoming a mindless zombie. She'd feared it at the time. If only she'd known the truth... she might not have done, or she might have feared it even more.

She swallows before admitting it. "Her hand... would reach me."

"So she's closing in on your position," he summarises. "Seconds, maybe a minute to take action before you're mind controlled and no longer of any use to us in taking out the threat." He puts the matter in context but it wasn't a context she was thinking of back then. She was thinking only of herself. "You're leg's busted?" he asks and she's nonplussed by the change of subject.

"Yes," her voice confirms before she can catch up to think things through.

"So, you can't retreat?" he asks but doesn't give her chance to answer as he moves on swiftly. "You have to take her down," he concludes and her heart clenches painfully, robbing her of a breath. "In such a way that she can't issue a thought to kill the other agents in there with you." 

"Talk her down," she hears her own voice object to his intended violence. He'd have been able to talk her down if he'd been in her place. She should have been able to find the words. It was a little girl. "You'd have found the words."

"Found the words?" he questions and she explains further.

"I couldn't find the words. I tried but... I couldn't find the right words."

"Magic words hmmm. Okay, let's work this through then. I've got - how long?" he asks and she knows he's humouring her but she still needs him to work through the motions, she needs to see if he can find the words, if he can save her daughter.

"Minutes," she says.

"Maybe seconds," he corrects her. "Minutes to find magic words to convince a psychopath-"

"A CHILD!" she shrieks back at him, rising to her feet incensed and honestly considering striking him for the insult to Katya's memory. "She was a child, Coulson! A little girl who didn't know any better!"

"And if I can't find the magic words then what happens? She kills them? Agents Hart and O'Brien? She takes you as another mindless zombie under her control?" Yes, no, maybe. She doesn't know damn it! She just doesn't know! "They're all possibilities right? I mean, she could do any of them if she wanted to if I fail to convince her to stop?"

Her silence is as much of an answer as he's getting as she continues to glare across the room at him.

"How?"

"What?"

"How? How does she do it? Does she need to approach, to touch them again or say something or...?"

"She can do it at a distance."

"Timing wise?"

"Immediate. The time it takes a thought." Or a smile.

"Okay, so I need magic words to find in maybe a minute and if I hit the wrong ones then she can kill everyone immediately in the blink of an eye or less."

"Yes." 

"Delayers then," he proffers, "Wait, give me a second, let's talk it over."

"No noticeable effect."

"You tried them?" Of course she tried them! What does he take her for, an idiot?!

"She's moving closer," she snaps at him.

"She ignored you. She'd ignore me too, Melinda. There aren't any right words when she's not listening. There's no magic word I can say to make her stop, Melinda."

"She's going to touch you."

"No," he says and closes the distance towards her, waits until she looks up into his eyes. "She's going to touch you, Melinda," he says softly but the shiver courses down her back anyway at the remembered threat and her breath sticks in her throat. His eyes are scared. Terrified on her behalf.

She doesn't need to confirm it but she nods anyway.

"Melin-" She doesn't want his comfort, his soft emphathy.

"No," she interrupts him shortly and turns away hoping to end this line of conversation.

 

x

 

"You had to stop her," he changes the subject when she doesn't continue. "Combat options?" he demands of her, forcing her training to bring her back to the conversation when little else will.

She hesitates noticeably. Stumbling over her words each time she starts to speak. 

"Combat options, Agent May!" he barks the order, demanding the answer he already knows.

"Take her down," she says eventually, words monotone, emotionless. She could be reading the dictionary for all the inflection she permits her tone.

"Or take her out," he corrects her obvious refusal to state the alternative. "Take her down then. Oh but, obvious flaw: you can't touch her."

She could avoid it. Use an object. A barrier between her skin and the target's.

"Could you take her down without touching her?" his thoughts echo her own - she blames their training.

"Yes."

"Really? You're injured. You can't touch her. You've seconds to act. You really think you can take her down?" his words call her out just as her traitorous mind does every time. "You'd need to be certain you could do it if you want to avoid her killing the others." She knows that! "Could you be certain?" No. He knows she couldn't, damn him! 

"If you can't be absolutely certain to take her down then you should take her out," he says and her entire soul rebels against the idea even as her rational mind tries to convince her that what he's saying it true, that it is the tactical imperative. She feels sick.

"What would Maria do in such a situation, Melinda?" he asks her, changing tack so abruptly it's startling, but it isn't really a question. Maria would take out the target. She's certain about that. Maria - "Maria wouldn't take the risk. Not to her agents. Not to the public."

She says nothing. She agrees with him. Maria would kill her daughter.

"Or Director Fury? You think he’d have hesitated to make that call? Director Carter? Your mother? She’s CIA admittedly not a field agent but if she had to make that choice?" She knows, damn it! He doesn't need to belabour the point. Everyone would make the call. Take the shot. The most likely option to result in the fewest casualties. Every one of them would kill her daughter. "Or me?" Him? Oh gods, no. Please not him. "I’d make that choice, Melinda. Would you hate me if I did?" Would she? Could she? She doesn't know. How could she know? "Could you hate any of them for making that call?" No. Yes. She doesn't know.

"But you, you think the risk might be worth it?" he questions false astonishment lacing his tone, tempting her to argue this with him.

She says nothing. She has nothing to say.

"Because she was a child?" he pushes. "Does everyone else deserve to die just because she's younger than them?" She knows what he's doing. Manipulating. Always manipulating her thoughts, her feelings.

"Even if you choose to take the risk, I have a hard time believing you could be certain to knock her out so quickly. Even if you could afford to touch her. Even if you could move to attack her with a fully capable body. You'd need to do it as instantly as a thought, the blink of an eye. You're not that fast, Melinda."

She knows damn it! She knows she can't move that fast.

"No one is that fast, Melinda." His reasoning just doesn't matter. She should be. If she could move fast enough then maybe she -

"What if it was Natasha? She's faster than you right?" Much to her disgust.

"She still not faster than a thought though." She's not fast enough.

"What about Daisy? She wouldn't even need to find a weapon or risk touching. She could just" (he demonstrates the move with arms) "blast her away. Blast her in to the wall or something? Render her unconscious?"

"Do Katya's powers work when she's unconscious?" he poses the question seemingly innocently.

She doesn't have an answer.

"Then she's got to judge it right - I mean too hard and the girl's dead anyway right? Too soft and well... everyone's dead. Then Daisy ends up under mind control and it's a whole world of bad news?"

“Is it worth the risk, Melinda? One girl’s life for so many? When she’s the threat?”

"She was a child!" she finally finds words to speak. An innocent, her mind adds.

"She killed people, Melinda." His voice is so even toned, so damned reasonable.

It's true but... "She didn’t-didn’t know any better."

"She wasn’t an innocent." 

She can’t deny that - as much as she wants to do so.

"She was a threat."

She says nothing.

"Within that room, she was THE threat."

It's true. It's all true. But... "She was my daughter..."

"And she needed to die," he says so matter of fact. As though it's so simple a conclusion to reach.

 

His reasoning resonates around her mind, rattling, repeating. She can't think. She can't rationalise it all. She just -

"What else could we have done, Melinda?"

"What should I have said?"  
"What would Maria have done?"  
"Could Natasha have done?"  
"Or Daisy even with powers beyond you or I?"

"What other option was there?"

Argh! She doesn't know damnit! Why does he think she would?! After all these years all her thoughts replay on an endless loop that has no solution she can find.

"I know, Melinda," he says and her eyes zone in on his in inexplicable hope that he might finally have an answer for her, the option she didn't see, the way out of this without a child's life on her conscience. "There was no other option, Melinda. No option available to you or anyone else that could have saved that little girl from the bullet needed to stop her. There was no other way to protect the agents whose lives were under threat. There was no other way, Melinda." 

She sobs. Broken.

"I'm sorry, Melinda."

Then she falls.

Her knees give out beneath her but she doesn't feel the pain as the impact of the mats ricochets up her spine. She can hear him closing the distance towards her as if through ear defenders. She feels hollow. Lost.

And then he's there. He's covered the distance between them and she's too far gone to have noticed, too far gone to have cared, half welcoming an attack as deserved for her sins. His arms land heavily upon her back, hauling her up off balance, forcing her to cry out at the sharp pain from her ribs as he crushes her. Against him. Unyielding arms holding her tightly to an unyielding body.

Her head nods to lie upon his chest as the tears cascade. Relief at the offer of comfort so patent it over powers her. Acceptance. Her shoulders shake as sobs come unbidden. She tries to hide them, to at the very least keep them contained. She holds them to silence but she cannot force them to stop. His arms hold her together when she’s so close to everything falling apart.

"I didn't mean to kill her, Phil," she whispers into his shirt.

"It's okay, Melinda." He says the words but it's not okay. He needs to know the truth. He needs to know he can't count on her. That if it were to happen again... mind control... she can't take the shot.

"I didn't make the call. My finger pulled the trigger but... I didn't make the call, Phil. I’d have let her kill them," she admits to the darkness that surrounds her whilst her eyes stay tightly shut keeping her apart, alone, safe. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t take the shot to kill someone she loves. Not anyone. Not her daughter.

She knows he's there from the sound of his careful breathing even if he doesn't speak into the silences she leaves. 

"I'd have let her kill you," she tells him again as if by repeating it he will understand the warning she's trying to impart - she is compromised. She's compromised so fully that she would let him die. From a single touch she would sit idly by and watch as the light from his eyes grows dull and lifeless. She would cry silent tears as his expression grew slack, formless, as everything that makes him him disappears from the empty human shell that stands in his place. She would do nothing to prevent it. 

"No, you wouldn't," his words patter gently at her fractured mind but the simple refusal doesn't sink in deep when she's certain she knows the truth - she’d have done anything to protect her daughter.

Only a monster could kill her daughter.

She couldn't take that shot. If her finger had moved a fraction later... if she'd known of her daughter first... if she'd loved her before she pulled back on that cold trigger...

She shakes her head and hides it against his shoulder in shame because she knows...

"Melinda, you wouldn’t. Hey, look at me." He jogs her chin until she turns tear filled eyes up to find his own. "You’ve only just got me almost trained to be tolerable – you’re not going to want to start from scratch with some babbling rookie."

She forces an approximation of a smile for the attempt, glad of the change in subject. "You’re right."

"Should get that recorded for posterity." 

"You are almost tolerable."

"See, now where would you be without me?" He half mocks her.

"Dead," she says simply.

 

x

 

The silence doesn't last even as they stand simply holding one another - neither willing to be the first one to let go, both too raw to even attempt to break apart. 

But her thoughts don't stay silent. "I loved her."

"I know you believe you did."

"I loved her."

"Mel-"

"I would have picked her, Phil. In a choice between her and everyone else... I would have chosen her. I would. I should..."

"Melinda," he says again and this time he waits until she looks up at him.

"I loved her, Phil. I couldn’t kill her." She begs him to agree. Pleads with him to confirm beyond her doubts that she couldn’t have pulled the trigger once she knew, couldn't kill someone she loved, couldn’t have murdered her daughter.

He speaks cautiously after a while of silent contemplation. "I think... I think you’re wrong, Melinda. I think... I think if it was her or everyone else... I think you’d be strong enough to make that call... It’s why, out of everyone, I asked you to take me out if it came down to it."

She lets out a snort that is half laugh, half derision. “I was lying, Phil.” She was never going to kill him, not ever. But if it made him feel better to think there was a contingency in place then she’d give him that small comfort.

“I know that you thought you were.”

“I could never shoot you in the head.”

“If I was crazy. If I was dangerous. If I was a risk to others... You could do it. You’re one of the few I’d trust _to_ do it.”

“Because I'm a monster,” she says and she tries to withdraw, to flee away from him and his accusations, the words that cut too deeply for her to survive.

“No! Never!" He shakes her even as he shouts at her. "You're the protector."

"The Shield.

"Even when that means making the call to end a threat.

"Even when it means taking the shot and ending a life.

"Melinda, _we_ are the Shield, no matter the personal cost.

"No matter how much it hurts.

"It doesn't matter whether you chose to shoot before or after she touched you. You would have made the right call anyway. You would have taken that shot. To protect everyone else."

She makes to push him away again, to retreat away until she's a better handle on everything, run until she can get herself back under control, shore up her defences that he battles down every damn time! Her mind is listening to his reasoning, seemingly convinced, almost trying to believe...

Maybe she did take the shot. 

Maybe she felt the cold weight of the revolver in her hand, saw the monster's eyes behind the smile of an innocent child. Maybe she saw the alternatives, weighted the options. Maybe she made the call... no matter the knowledge, the love, the cost. 

Maybe...

She struggles against his hold as much as her mind struggles with his words.

His arms tighten around her back, trapping her, removing from her the option to even attempt an objection and after a too brief fight she slumps in defeat. She’s too exhausted to fight him anymore - not out here, not in her mind that agrees with him despite her best efforts. She allows herself to collapse against him, to let her head fall to lie against his chest. Let him support them both. 

“I’ve got you, Melinda. It's okay.”

She breaks.

Melts against him. Too exhausted to fight. Too overwhelmed. Too hurt.

The tears take her and she lets them. 

"You are not a monster, Melinda."

She’s so damn tired. From the fighting, from the lies, the distrust, the pain. From the mental even more than the physical. 

"You're a protector. A Shield.

"Even when it destroys you inside."

She feels destroyed. Broken. Shattered. 

She shivers even though she knows it’s not cold in the gym. His arms tighten around her back in silent acknowledgement. She snuffles softly at first, struggling to keep the sobs to silence, but she’s no chance of holding back this inescapable tide of feelings released.

She succumbs. She breaks. She sobs without restraint.

And he holds her though it all. A comforting embrace he will not let her escape even if she wanted to run away and hide. 

She came here for a friend. 

 

She found him.

 

x

 

Meanwhile in the surveillance room…  
__

_It is silent._

_Everyone’s eyes fixed on the centre screen._

_Ashamed to be watching, to be listening to something so personal._

_There’s a choked off sob – Daisy. Maybe Fitz. Both have eyes glistening wet with the threat of tears._

_Bobbi is the first to look down, to look away._

_Mack is the one gulping, his large hands twisting as though aching to do something but unsure what._

_They’re all disturbed out of their silent shame when the screens suddenly turn blank. Three sets of eyes land clearly surprised on Hunter in the back corner as he stands up from where he was crouching, unplugged cable end in hand._

_“It fell out,” he says with a shrug._

_It’s not a lie if everyone knows it’s a lie._

__  
X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too proud to beg: leave me a comment and make my day?
> 
> Actually, leave me two cos you got two whole chapters out of me here... 
> 
> ;)


	19. The Ending... Or The Beginning?

Chapter 19 - The Ending or the Beginning...

 

They sit holding one another in tears and pain and ... the relief is absolute.

Eventually he sighs, then they both groan in pain when ribs and muscles and bruises protest against any movement. 

“I hurt,” he faux complains at her. She almost wants to laugh at him as he no doubt intended.

She sniffs lightly and he pulls her closer into the comfort of his body. His arms holding her tightly despite the pain. Here it is safe now. Safe to admit to vulnerabilities she couldn’t have shared with him even a matter of hours ago. Not after everything they’d been through, all that had been left unsaid. “Me too,” she admits to his shoulder and he chuckles humourlessly.

“This was your plan,” she reminds him quietly, hoping to elicit another smile, maybe another laugh.

“My stupid plan?” he challenges but she can hear the smirk in his voice. On the level of his stupid plans, this is probably one of his worst. And one of his best. 

“Feel better?” he asks and rather than throw out the patented ‘I’m fine’ she thinks on it seriously before answering. She does feel better. Her body hurts like hell but her mind feels freer, a weight of guilt lifted from her chest, the stirrings of hope for the future. She knows it's not the end of her nightmares, knows even with his forgiveness and reasoning she probably won't ever be able to forgive herself. But maybe this is a start.

He feels the nod of her head against his chest and tightens his arms around her in silent acknowledgement as his cheek lowers to rest atop her head, enveloping her like he might never let her go.

"You know, I really didn’t come here to cry on your shoulder," she manages eventually to tell him on a whisper.

"No," he agrees simply. "You came here for a friend."

She sniffles before she can find any words appropriate to answer such a powerful statement. She's never been as good at words as him. She responds as a friend should to such a declaration of feelings - a promise and a jibe in one.

"I guess you’ll do. It's not like there are many applying for the position."

He holds her tighter in silent acknowledgement and she wishes with all of her heart that he'd never let her go. She's missed him so much.

She sniffs back the tears that threaten, runs a tongue across her swollen lip to catch at the blood before it drops to his shirt, and forces out through a choked voice “I missed you.”

“I’m here,” he says. She hears what he doesn’t say; she hears the offer to try again, the want to try again, the-

“Me too,” she says simply. 

She knows he hears what goes unspoken this time around; that he feels what she feels.

We’re back.

We’re good.

We’ll try harder this time around.

We...

 

_We._

 

The end?

 

x

 

_Or for the Philinda fans..._

 

Eventually she has to force herself to move. They need to move at some point. Someone is going to want to use this gym and they can’t find the two of them here, not like this. Someone (Daisy) might even come looking for them given the hours that have probably passed.

They should probably start cleaning themselves up. Treating their injuries. They’ve numerous med kits stashed that they can probably get to without being seen – if they’re cautiously prudent in their movements. ‘Cautiously prudent’ is probably the opposite of how she’s normally operated.

That they’re going to need to come up with a cover story hits her suddenly. A good cover story if it’s any hope of standing the testing non-questions of Barbara Morse, the intelligent investigations of Fitz and the far too determined for her own damned good, will never let the slightest thing past, worries at it like a terrier gone nuts Daisy! Her brain doesn’t feel up to the challenge of even trying to think up anything THAT good. 

He can do it. It was his stupid plan anyway.

She pulls back slightly intending to tell him just that to watch him smile but his eyes are soft and serious. 

His eyes tell secrets of hope, make silent promises.

Promises she’s not entirely sure that she can ignore. She’s not even sure she wants to...

“You know,” he breaks in quietly. He simply can’t resist talking into a perfectly good silence and she can’t help but smile at that - as much as thing change, as much as they might change, he will always be Phil Coulson. “When you look at me like that,” he continues, “I never know-“

Her soft lips swallow the remainder of his intended words but he doesn't appear to mind her clarification.

 

 

 

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist a Philinda ending - sorry anyone who is not a Philinda fan (how did you get this far if you aren't?!)


	20. So long and thanks for all the fish

Not another final chapter folks.

Just an opportunity for me to say thank you.

Thank you mostly to devilgrrl who has trudged through this fic time and time again to try to make it the best it can be. She has dragged me back from wherever I've wandered too far off course, out of character and in to no man's land. She has (attempted) to un-Brit the language, repeatedly - who knew u Americans don't have lorries?!? She has been my muse, my inspiration, and is credited with the very best line in the entire work dragging in the imprints of a swing set on Katya's little (deadly) hands. Oh the inhumanity!

_"She can see it all again now. Vividly. She can smell the heat and dust. Taste the bitter blood. See the small outstretched hand. Little fingers with smooth, pale skin, fingernails bitten low with a bit of dirt beneath, faint impressions from metal chain-links of a swing-set in her palms. A child’s hand etched clearer in her memory than her own scarred weapons."_

This fic would never have happened without her continuing input and support - so here's a whole load of kudos to you Devilgrrl and my heartfelt thanks for everything you've put in to make this fic what it is - my favourite of everything written so far.

 

And of course huge thanks go to all of the rest of you who have read this along with me, who have left kudos and comments to brighten my days and keep me writing more. To those of you who have actually taken the time to throw ideas back at me thank you even more - it truly helps when others are talking back to find what we all actually want the characters to do in a fic like this.

 

So thank you all. I hope you've enjoyed it and I do hope you will join me again on another adventure (if I ever get around to finishing any of the many epics that are currently ongoing!)

 

YOU GUYS ARE FABULOUS  
Ax


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